Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
My metronome vanished as he climbed into the cab. I heard shuffling, then the sound of the glove box opening.
His strong, sure voice read her the information she’d need to insure the truck properly, giving her the VIN number and then pausing before saying, “It’s registered to William Carter—wait, there’s a transfer signed here by Arthur Livingston, Personal Representative to Morgan E. Bartley. Right. I’ll tell her. Is that all? Okay, you, too. Bye.” The glove box snapped shut, and a few breaths later, I managed to turn my head to see Jackson step down from the cab, tall enough that he actually fit the damned truck. He was easily four inches taller than Will had been, wider in the shoulders, too.
Stop comparing them.
I tried to do the mental exercise I’d watched on YouTube, where I visualized myself shoving all my thoughts about Will into the neat little box in my head and slamming the lid shut.
“All done,” Jackson said, dropping to my eye level.
“Thank you.” I focused on the sand as my face flushed hot.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, I let my eyes travel upward until I met his.
“You have panic attacks. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” His gaze bore into mine, driving home the sincerity of his words.
“Anxiety attacks,” I corrected him. The ache in my throat flared, and I knew it wouldn’t recede until I took my rescue meds, which happened to be back at the B&B.
His brow furrowed. “What triggered you?” When I didn’t answer, he guessed. “The truck?”
I nodded. “I have to get back to the bed and breakfast. My meds are there.”
He stood, then offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me easily to my feet.
“Let me drive you.”
“No, I’m fine.” My fingers busied themselves brushing the sand from my legs. “I can drive.” God, I had to get out of here before I embarrassed myself any further.
“Morgan, really, let me drive you. Please.” He reached for my arm, then thought better of it, pulling his hand back.
“I can do it myself,” I whispered as I pushed the lock button on the truck.
“I just want to help,” he said softly as I walked past him to where the Mini was parked.
“You did.” I slid into the driver’s seat and arched my neck as another wave of tension washed over me like an aftershock. I ran my hands over my steering wheel and sighed as my emotions lowered to a simmer. That was better.
“Who was he to you?” Jackson asked, looking down at me from the open door.
Every label I could put on what I had with Will felt too small, too pale in comparison to what we’d been, and what we could have evolved into, and yet too big for our lack of definition.
“Everything, and yet nothing.” I gave him the truth in the simplest terms I could, giving him the best perspective of me he could have and hiding nothing.
Hi. I’m Morgan. I’m a hot mess.
Jackson didn’t cringe, didn’t roll his eyes or slam the door. No, that would have made this easier—running away from him. Instead, he nodded. “Okay. I can understand that. Drive safe, okay? Maybe you can text me when you get there?” He stepped free of the door.
“I don’t have your number.” Before he could offer it to me, I swung the door shut. The engine roared to life as I turned the key, and then I backed out of the long drive once he was clear. He understood. Of course, he understood.
And that was exactly why I couldn’t let him drive me to the B&B.
Because back on that beach, I’d felt something. We’d connected.
I didn’t have anything to offer, and even if I did, I’d be damned if I was ever going to open up to a man who was in love with another woman. I would never make that mistake again.
Ever.
I was done being someone’s consolation prize.
“Damn you, Will. I think you ruined me.”
Chapter Six
Jackson
“Night, Daddy!” Fin called out for the sixth time since I’d kissed her good night about two minutes ago.
“Night, Fin.” I blew her a kiss but gave her the I’m-not-kidding look.
She giggled accordingly. I turned off her light and shut the door without any protest, so I called it a win.
With Fin tucked in, my mind took off racing as I walked downstairs, giving me every reason not to do this—telling me over and over not to violate Morgan’s privacy, reminding me that she hadn’t given me details for a reason.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
Now, if only it had bubbles. And alcohol. And was beer. But I was on call, so water it was.
The weather had turned, which meant there was a good chance I’d get called in anyway. Hopefully, Morgan had made it to wherever she was staying, but it wasn’t like I could text her or anything. That would have required having her phone number.