Chapter 5
5
Whit Bowman
One Month Later
R unning the pad of her thumb along her tongue, the loan officer smiles at me as she flips to the next page, and I can’t help but squirm. I understand why people do it; why they wet their thumb to gain traction, but it’s so gross. There are so many germs present in mouths at all times. I don’t even know this woman, and now her germs are all over my official documents.
Thanks, Linda.
“Now this one goes over the terms of your loan,” she drags on. “Interest rate is here, insurance is here, and down here is your total monthly payment. If you could just sign and date below.”
Bringing the blue ink pen to the paper, I scrawl my name on the line like I’ve done twenty-three other times today. We’ve been here for nearly an hour, and we aren’t done yet. My signature doesn’t even look like my name anymore. Hell, I’m going to have a cramp in my hand by the end of this.
Linda, the thumb licker, drones on, page after page, explaining in great detail what each one represents, then tells me to sign and date at the bottom, like maybe I’ll forget what my part in this little meeting is from the last page. I don’t even want to be here right now; my day is hectic enough, but I need to get this shit taken care of so we can close on the loan.
Taking out a second mortgage on my house to get caught up on bills with my business, when I can barely make ends meet with the payment I have now, is less than ideal, but I didn’t know what else to do. My options are slim, and I had to do something. Care for my dad isn’t getting any cheaper, and insurance is a fucking joke. You’d think somebody who had been a hardworking, tax-paying citizen for over seventy years would have better options.
It’s another twenty minutes before we’re finished, and after finger-licking Linda makes me a copy of the documents I signed, I head back to the clinic. We’ve got a busy afternoon on the books, and I’m already running late. Shoving the thick stack of papers in my glove box, I climb out of my truck and lock the door, speed walking through the front doors.
Seraph, the goldendoodle, is doing her very best to annoy Franklin, the black cat, inside his carrier as I step into the lobby. It’s a full house in here, and my chest clenches at the sight. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have taken a lunch break at all. There’s too much to do, and at this rate, I’ll be here until nine o’clock finishing it all.
“Welcome back, Dr. B,” Maddy, my receptionist, calls out to me as I walk into the back area.
“Hello, Maddy.” I offer her a tight-lipped smile, wanting to set my briefcase in my office so I can dive into the next patient. I can hear her following behind me, and I breathe out a sigh. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Grazing Acres Ranch called while you were gone,” she states, and my heart stalls in my chest as I grit my teeth. “They scheduled an appointment to have you go out to the ranch tomorrow morning. One of the bison, they said.”
Moments like this, it would be nice if I had a second vet on staff. Then I could make them do the house calls I don’t want to. Like this particular house call.
Blowing out a breath, I turn and face Maddy, forcing another smile. “What time?”
“Nine.” She smiles back, hers much more enthusiastic. “You don’t have a patient in the office until noon.”
“Thank you.”
It’s been an entire month since I lost my common sense for the night—thirty-five days, to be exact—and I’ve managed to maintain a healthy distance from Conrad ever since. I had to make one house call there a few weeks ago to check on the new batch of calves, but luckily, he was gone when I got there. His new ranch hand, Wade, was there instead. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Conrad was avoiding me just as much as I’m avoiding him.
I huff to myself. Who the hell am I kidding? Of course, he’s avoiding me. On the scale of in touch with our feelings and communication , Conrad and I are on opposite ends of that spectrum. The fact would annoy me if I wasn’t also burying my head in the sand.
Busying myself with work, the rest of the afternoon breezes by. Much to my surprise, I’m actually able to fly through all the necessary paperwork and leave the office at a decent hour. I’m in my truck, driving home, when my phone rings. Blindly reaching for it in my passenger seat, I press accept, and it connects to the Bluetooth.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.” Reggie’s voice filters through my speaker, and my shoulders immediately tense. “Where you at?”
“I’m driving home,” I reply, severely wishing I had checked caller ID before answering.
“Are you close?”
“Uh, yeah. About two minutes. Why?”
“I’m waiting outside your house.” My hands grip the steering wheel as my pulse races. “We had dinner plans, remember? I brought stuff to cook.”
Fucking hell. Goddamnit. I fucking forgot. How could I forget?
“Oh.” I chuckle dryly. “Of course, I remember. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay, love you.”
“Okay, bye!” My index finger jams into the screen, ending the call in a hurry as I blow out a breath. God, get it together, Whit.
Dread churns in my stomach as guilt squeezes me around the neck like a noose. I don’t know how much longer I can keep living like this. Guilt is eating me alive, and I’ve been avoiding my own boyfriend almost as much as I’ve been avoiding my ex-husband because I don’t know how to handle this. What I did was awful, and I know it would hurt Reggie if he knew. I’ve never been good in situations like this. I’m no good at hurting people’s feelings, but lying to him isn’t any better.
I cheated on my boyfriend.
With my ex-husband.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Thirty-five days later, and I still can’t wrap my head around that decision. It makes zero sense. It’s completely out of character for me. I’m not a cheater, and Conrad and I have been over for years. I’ve moved on; Reggie and I have been together almost three years now. I just don’t understand what would possess me to do what I did. And to top it off, as if that’s not bad enough, I initiated it all! I practically begged him to help me cheat on my nice, loyal, sweet boyfriend.
The oxygen in the cab of my truck suddenly feels paper thin. Like, as soon as I suck it into my lungs, it evaporates. My chest tightens, the vein in my neck throbbing, and head pounds. I can’t catch my breath, and it’s like the world is closing in on me. I’m being sucked into a void with no say in the matter.
I should’ve canceled this dinner.
Should’ve told Reggie not to come over.
But in order to do that, I would’ve had to remember that we had plans. How can I remember a single thing when my head is already stuffed full of shame over what I’ve done, and then more guilt on top of that because I can’t stop replaying the entire night in my mind like a sordid, filthy, inappropriate slideshow. Every last memory.
The rough scratch of his beard against my cheek.
The rich, woodsy scent of him as it invaded my nostrils.
The way he handled me with care, while also being rough with me, just the way I like. The way I crave. And the fact he remembered that.
How being with him felt like sitting around the campfire on a chilly, star-filled night, wrapped up in a warm blanket.
Turning into my driveway, I spot Reggie’s car, and my stomach sours. I chew on the inside of my cheek hard enough that I taste copper as I park beside him. He climbs out before I do, rounding the front of his Prius and opening my door for me.
Like the gentleman he is.
I’m going to be sick.
I grab my briefcase and climb out, forcing myself to breathe steadily. Reggie leans in for a kiss, the scent of Juicy Fruit gum wafting in my face a moment before our lips connect. I hate that scent. It’s all he chews, and I can’t stand it. The kiss is short, no tongue, as it usually is with him.
“Hi, babe.” Taking my briefcase from me, he asks, “How was your day?”
“Busy,” I murmur, unlocking the front door. “How was yours?”
“It was great,” he replies cheerfully as he sets my briefcase on the entryway table. That’s not where it goes. It goes in my office, on top of my desk, like I’ve told him dozens of times. “Ran a few errands, went for a swim at the gym, worked in my garden…”
The rest of what he says falls on deaf ears, his voice nothing more than a constant buzz, as I pad across the floor into the kitchen, where I grab a glass out of the cupboard, filling it with cold water from the fridge. My mouth is dry, and it feels like a golf ball is lodged in my throat. Chugging the water until there’s nothing left, I set it in the sink before opening the dishwasher, and I get to work unloading it. I normally do this before work, but I was running late this morning because I overslept.
I’m in the middle of rinsing my morning coffee mug when arms slide around my middle, and the hard weight of Reggie’s chest presses into my back. Startled, I drop the mug in the sink and jump to the side, causing his arms to fall away in the process.
“Whoa, babe. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and the crawling-out-of-my-skin sensation from a moment ago hits me again in full force, sending a full-body shudder down my spine.
I shake his hand away, unable to look at him. “I’m fine,” I blurt out, shaking my head. “Just, I don’t want to be touched right now.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then, “Did I do something?”
The confusion and the sadness in his voice claws at my chest. “No, you didn’t do anything,” I try to reassure him, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job. “I just don’t want to be touched right now.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him retreat into himself, and I feel like shit. My stomach clenches once more as I rub my fingers together in rhythmic circles. I drag in a deep breath and hold it in my lungs on a five count before blowing it out through my mouth. Then I turn to Reggie with as much gumption as I can manage.
“Reggie, I…” The words die in my throat as I make the mistake of looking him in the eye. “I don’t think tonight is such a good idea.” I’m a coward. “I’ve had a hectic day, my head is killing me, and I think I’d rather be alone.”
His brows pinch together, mouth turned down into a frown. “Are you sure? I brought all the stuff to make your favorite. Besides, we’ve barely seen each other over the last few weeks. I was looking forward to getting to connect with you tonight.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reply, harsher than I intend to. “I’m sorry, but I think you should go.”
I hate apologizing when I’m not actually sorry, but he looks like I just kicked his dog. It seems like the right thing to say, but it leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat. It does the trick, though, because after a quick kiss on the cheek, he grabs his groceries, and leaves.
Once I finish loading the dishwasher, I wipe down the counters before taking a nice, hot shower. I don’t feel any better by the time I’m out, but at least I’m clean. Making a mental note to call my therapist and schedule the appointment I’ve been putting off all month, I fix a quick quesadilla, taking that and the book I’m currently reading out to the porch, and I eat as the sun sets on the horizon.
The house call to Conrad’s tomorrow morning weighs heavily on my mind. I’m dreading it, and desperately hoping he won’t be there again, but I have a feeling I won’t get that lucky twice.