Chapter 26
26
Whit Bowman
A fter having my morning cup of coffee, I spot Conrad in the en-suite, standing in front of the mirror. My gaze dips down, taking in the sink full of water and the straight razor and shaving cream next to it.
“Leaving for work?”
My eyes lift, meeting Conrad’s chestnut browns in the mirror before I cross over to the doorway. “Yeah, I have to leave in about fifteen minutes. Cleaning up your beard?”
Huffing out a breath, he shrugs. “Trying to. I sliced my index finger open this morning.” He holds up his bandage-wrapped finger. “Makes it difficult to hold the razor.”
“I can help,” I offer quietly, my heart thrashing as he turns to look at me.
It’s been a couple of days since we’ve had sex, and while we haven’t directly talked about it, and what it means, it does feel remarkably comfortable. We fooled around a little bit in bed last night before we fell asleep. Just some kissing and touching, but it feels good.
Feels good sleeping in his arms again. The nerves are still there, the fear of getting hurt again, but the more time we spend together, the more I let him in, the more that feeling lessens.
“You have to get to work,” he says.
“I’ve got time.” I pad into the bathroom, and Conrad takes a step back as I hoist myself up onto the counter. “Come here.”
As he comes to a stop directly in front of me, body positioned between my legs, I’m hit with so many memories at once. Trimming Conrad’s beard and shaving his neck were things I used to do often when we were still together. It was something I think we both loved. A time in the morning before the day started when it was just us, the smell of the shaving cream, and the sound of the razor swishing in the water. I never understood why, but it was always soothing for me.
It was something I very much enjoyed doing for him.
My heart is in my throat as I reach for the brush, dipping it into the bowl, and scooping out some cream. He’s completely still as I spread it along his neck, but I can feel his gaze on me with every move I make. Next, I set the brush down and grab the razor, dunking it in the water before bringing it up to his skin with steady hands.
Conrad has always preferred a straight razor to a disposable one. It’s something that’s made him seem more distinguished in my eyes.
The air thickens, electricity cracking between us with each brush of my fingers on his skin and every swipe of the blade. I’ve seemed to have forgotten how intimate this is, my skin on fire and my pulse racing the closer I get to finishing.
After I’m done, I clean him up with a warm rag, making sure to get every last speck of cream off his neck.
Conrad looks down at me as I set the rag off to the side, and I swear, my heart’s got a mind of its own right now. “Thank you,” he husks, the gravel in his tone sending a shiver down my spine.
“You’re welcome.”
The oxygen in the air evaporates as we continue staring at each other, the outside world vanishing. It’s just him and I, and every emotion in my chest that I’m not sure I’m ready to face yet but can’t help but lean into. Conrad lowers his head, lips barely brushing against mine as he breathes me in. My eyelids flutter closed, and my stomach flips as he kisses me soft and slow. Passionate. Tongue swiping along mine, he groans as he tastes me, and I revel in the feel of him. By the time he pulls back, my mind is hazy, and I want so much more, but I know we can’t.
I have to get to work.
“Have a good day,” he tells me as I jump down from the counter, trying to compose myself and steady my breathing.
“Th-thanks,” I stutter, catching his lip quirking as he watches me. “You too.”
“Shooter is ready in room two for you, Dr. B,” Tasha murmurs, standing in the doorway to my office.
“Thanks, Tasha.”
I leave my office, making my way down the hall toward the patient room. Opening the door, I come face to face with my smiling friend and his brand-new puppy.
“What do we have here?” I murmur as I enter the room.
“This is Sophie,” Shooter beams like a proud dad, gesturing toward the tiny blue heeler puppy. “Isn’t she the cutest?”
Standing on the exam table, her ears still floppy because she hasn’t grown into them yet, she looks up at me with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. One of her eyes is surrounded by an all-black patch of fur, making the ice blue of her eye stand out even better. “She is adorable,” I agree. “I’m glad to see you got a dog who can now terrorize you the same way you terrorize all of us.”
Shooter snorts. “Sophie is an angel. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And so am I.”
I breathe out a small chuckle as I get to work checking her out. “Right, keep telling yourself that. She may be an angel now because you just brought her home, but you just wait.”
“Haven’t talked to you in like a week,” he says after a few moments. “How’s married life treating you?”
My body flushes as I think about his question and remember the kiss we shared before work this morning. I don’t know how much of the situation I want to tell Shooter. Then again, his perspective may help.
Exhaling a breath, I glance over at him. “Things have gotten…interesting,” I murmur, knowing I don’t need to say much else for Shooter to put two and two together. I know I’m right when his eyes widen and a grin brightens his face.
“No fucking way,” he blurts out. “You guys are banging, aren’t you?”
“Jesus, Shooter,” I scoff. “Why do you have to say it like that? And can you keep your voice down? I work here you know.”
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?”
I can feel my cheeks heat; they’re probably bright red. “Yes, we have been…intimate, okay?”
“How are you feeling about that?” he asks, all humor gone from his tone.
I shrug pathetically, feeling entirely too vulnerable right now. “I don’t know. It feels good to be back in this place with Conrad again, but at the same time, I’m scared I’m going to get hurt again.”
This is much more vulnerable than feels comfortable, but it’s Shooter. He’s not going to judge me, and I need to tell somebody.
“That’s valid,” he offers.
Sophie walks between Shooter and I on the table, getting love from both of us, soaking it all in. She’s so little, she’s still got puppy breath, and I love it.
“We have such a long history…” I start, trying to gather all my thoughts. “The end of our marriage gutted me.” Meeting his gaze across the exam table, I look away before I add, “He told me he was still in love with me the other night.”
“Did you honestly think he wasn’t?” The question is like a sucker punch to the gut. “Whit, I’m not sure if you’re purposely ignoring what’s right in front of your face, or if you truly can’t see it, but that man has never stopped loving you. And it would appear everybody in this town can see that except for you.”
I don’t say anything; I can’t. My throat is tight, and I’m worried if I respond, I’ll do something ridiculous, like cry.
“The question is,” Shooter continues. “Do you still have those feelings for him?”
The question shouldn’t make my stomach dip, or my heart race, but it does. “Yeah, I do,” I murmur, feeling like a two-ton weight’s been lifted with that one confession. “And I’m starting to wonder if maybe I never stopped feeling this way.”
“You’re only human, Whit,” he says gently. “He was your first love, but more than that, he was the family you needed when you didn’t have yours. And it’s not like you two got a divorce because you fell out of love. I think it would be different if it were a case of you guys having grown apart. Honestly, it would be more bizarre to me if you didn’t still have feelings for him.”
I breathe out a sigh, my chest tight. “I don’t know what to do. It feels like I’m just asking to get hurt again, but I can’t seem to make myself stop.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“Not really.” My chest tightens with nerves, but it’s the truth.
“Do you think maybe it’s simply because of your proximity to one another?” he asks. “Like, when you go back to your own house and his nana goes home, things will go back to the way they were?”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure that it’s only the proximity.”
“Why do you say that?” he asks, brow arched, a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his lip.
My pulse is a steady drum in my ears. I haven’t spoken about that night to anybody, except my therapist, and I wasn’t entirely planning to, but I guess that’s out the window now. I glance up at Shooter, then quickly look away because there’s no way I can look at him when I say this.
“We, uh… Well, there was one time before his nana came to town that we, uh, kind of messed around.”
“You’ve been holding out on me,” Shooter whisper-yells. “When did this happen?”
“It may have happened at your boyfriend’s birthday party.” I wince as Shooter’s jaw drops open.
Breathing out a laugh, he says, “So, you’re saying the party I threw for Sterling is what brought you and Conrad back together?” He clutches his chest dramatically, and I already regret telling him this. “Sterling is going to get a kick out of knowing that we’re the reason you two lovebirds found your way back to each other.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I huff. “First of all, you cannot tell Sterling about this, and?—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, buddy,” Shooter cuts in. “I tell Sterling everything. Sorry, not sorry. But he’s a vault and would never say anything.” I glower at him, but he simply smiles and says, “Continue.”
“Second of all, who is saying we’re getting back together? And even if we were, it definitely isn’t your doing.”
“But it happened at the birthday party I threw for my boyfriend.”
“So? It wasn’t like the celebration overjoyed us so much we lost our clothes together. I had a rough day prior to coming over, and he just happened to be there when I needed somebody.”
Shooter looks at me crooked, like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. And okay, I get it. I’m not exactly selling my point that well.
“I’m still taking credit when you two inevitably get re-married,” he murmurs. “I’d like to be mentioned in the vows. Or better yet, I’d like to be the best man.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath, looking at Sophie, who’s already watching me with curious, wide eyes. “I’m so sorry that your new dad is a moron. Your other dad seems to have more of a head on his shoulders, at least.”
“Hey, fuck off, asshole.” Shooter chuckles before sobering up. “All jokes aside, I think you should do what feels right to you. If exploring things with Conrad is what your heart wants, then I think you should do that. Maybe some distance was what you both needed to come back stronger than ever. I don’t think you’re ‘asking to get hurt,’ like you said. You never know until you try, and if it still doesn’t work out, at least now you know. But on the flip side…what if it does work out? Wouldn’t that be worth the risk?”
My heart is in my throat hearing him say all of that. It’s like he somehow knew exactly what I needed to hear.
“I hate this,” I breathe out. “Shouldn’t love be less confusing than this? Less difficult?”
“Nah.” He waves a hand in front of him. “Where’s the fun in that? Nobody actually wants anything that comes too easily. The best things in life are those you have to work for. And besides, you’re the one making it difficult.” I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, not giving me a chance. “Listen, I get your hesitancy, I really do, but he’s told you how he feels. He’s put himself out there. This could be easy if you just let go and let yourself try again. For what it’s worth, from an outsider’s perspective, I can tell you want to, but you’re stopping yourself. Just try, man. Let yourself take what you want.”
I glance over at him and smile. “Thanks, Shooter.”
“Anytime, friend. Even if you’re kind of an asshole and just called me a moron to my dog.”
I laugh. “Well, she deserves to know what she’s getting into.”
After we finish the well check appointment, Shooter leaves with Sophie, and I head back into my office to finish up some paperwork before it’s time to leave for the evening. As I’m finishing up, an email comes through that catches my eye and has me stopping what I was doing.
It’s from the mortgage company, but I don’t know what they’d be emailing me for. Clicking on the email, I read through, my heart pounding more viciously the more I read.
Dear Whittaker Bowman Jr.,
This letter for your records is confirmation that your loan was recently paid in full…
What the hell…
This can’t be right. There must be some sort of a mistake.
Finding the lender’s website, I locate their phone number, and with shaky hands, I dial their number, bringing the phone up to my ear. Of course, because it’s so close to the end of business day, I sit on hold forever, my nerves getting more and more shot by the second.
I re-read the email several more times, like I’ll find the answer to all my questions in there if I look hard enough.
What is happening?
Finally, the line connects, and my mind is so jumbled I can hardly talk as the lady asks for my information to pull up my account.
“How can I help you, Mr. Bowman?”
“H-hi, yes, I’m calling about an email I just got from your office. Although, I think it may be a mistake. Or a scam.”
The chipper voice on the other end of the phone says, “Sure thing. Can you tell me what the email said?”
I read her the email, word for word, my stomach in knots. This has to be a mistake.
“Oh, okay,” she replies, sounding confused. See, mistake. “We did send that email, sir. It’s not a mistake or a scam.”
“Okay, well, it has to be a mistake, because I certainly didn’t pay off that loan.”
“Give me just a moment as I look through the file.” There’s a brief pause where I can hear the clicking of her fingers hitting the keyboard. My office is entirely too hot, sweat dripping down my neck into my scrub top. “It looks like the account was paid off today via a wire transfer from a Strauss Family Holdings. Does that sound familiar?”
I’m going to be sick.
“Sir?”
“Yes, sorry. It does sound familiar. I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.”
The woman on the other end of the call says something else to me before the line disconnects, but I don’t hear any of it.
Conrad did this.
Conrad paid off my mortgage.
Without telling me.
My vision blurs at the corners as I move on autopilot, shutting my computer down and gathering all my stuff so I can leave. My hands are shaky, and as I storm out to my truck, my knees are wobbly. This feels like a sign. Like the universe showing me what an idiot I am for thinking we could ever be together again. Bile churns in my gut as I start my vehicle and peel out of the driveway.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” I hiss to myself, slapping a hand down on my steering wheel. “Why would he fucking do this?”
Why did he do this behind my back?