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The tone of Hope’s voice caught my attention and I answered without thinking. “God, I hope not.” I wrapped my arm around my stomach at the idea and shook my head to clear it of the thought.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Then don’t hurt him.”
Hope gathered up her things and smiled wryly at me. “Have a donut. You look like you could use the boost.” At the door, she turned. “Minty, remember I told you I’d be your biggest ally?”
“Yes,” I answered woodenly.
“That still stands. You have my number. Use it if you need to talk.”
She left before I could answer, but it didn’t matter. I had nothing to say. Staring at the table, I began again at the point where Lucky left with Barrett. I didn’t notice at first when he sat down across from me at the table.
“I know you had a hard time last night. I’m sorry.” He enclosed my hand in both of his, the bulky bandage filling my palm as he rubbed his thumb gently over the base of mine. Those calloused fingers that brought such pleasure, played so beautifully, cared for everyone they touched.
“How is your hand?”
“No lasting damage. Stitches should come out on their own in roughly ten days.”
“Will you be able to play on Saturday?”
“Not sure. It’s doubtful.” He stood up. “Come on. Lie down on the couch while I make you breakfast.”
The couch.
My hands were tucked beneath my thighs.
Are you sure?
“I need to …” Think? If I said think, he’d think I was breaking up with him. “Process.”
“No problem. We don’t need to talk about anything right now. Do you want to eat something and go for a ride?”
We hadn’t been out on his bike in over a week. There was freedom on the bike. But no amount of wind could blow away these thoughts.
“No. I think I need to go home and regroup.”
He jerked back in his seat. “We have the whole day together. We don’t have to go out,” he offered. “Want to watch movies and cuddle? Maybe you can ravish me? Do all the work? Seeing as I’m injured?”
I made her a nest. I didn’t touch her.
Are you sure?
I closed my eyes. Began my mental review once again.
“Minty…” he whispered.
“I need to go home.”
“Okay.” Standing, he drew me into his arms. “I’ll drive you. You don’t seem like you’re in a good place to drive.”
No.
“I can drive.” Driving demanded all my attention and offered a brief reprieve. “Driving helps.”
He followed me home in his car, turning off only once I pulled into my lot. Throughout the day, he texted. My responses were brief, to the point, and extracted energy I did not have.
