Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
EVE
We’ve celebrated me applying to that position in more ways than one. Dinner at Rosie’s. Games at the B&B, with a Christmas movie in the background and the Travel Lovers reviewer taking notes.
Hours later, I’m half awake, nestled in that perfect warm spot between sleep and consciousness, when Adam shifts beside me. His phone screen illuminates his face in the dark, harsh light catching on the angles of his jaw but it’s the sudden tension in his shoulders that pulls me fully awake.
“What is it?” I mumble, propping myself up on one elbow. The sheet slips down, and despite the serious look on his face, his eyes drop momentarily to my chest before snapping back up. Even in crisis mode, the man is delightfully predictable.
“Nothing important,” he says, too level.
The kind of calm that means everything is important.
I know that voice. I perfected that voice.
It’s the emotional tourniquet tone, meant to stop the bleeding before anyone notices it’s happening.
He clicks his phone off fast, like the screen might burn him. Or like I wasn’t already watching.
I sit up fully now, the sleepy haze vanishing. “Adam.”
“Just work stuff.” He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sexily rumpled in that way that should be criminally unfair at—I glance at the clock—3:17 a.m.. “Go back to sleep.”
He’s already moving, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his back to me as he reaches for his laptop.
“It’s clearly not ‘nothing’ if you’re checking your email at three in the morning.” I move to his side of the bed, close enough to see the tension radiating through him even in the dim light. “Talk to me.”
His fingers pause over the keyboard.
“Email from the college Dean. He sent it at midnight. After a party.” The words come out clipped, each one precise and controlled. “They’re cutting the rural veterinary program budget by sixty percent. Standardizing the curriculum.”
My stomach drops. “But that’s your entire reason for taking the position. And didn’t you tell me it gives you the option to renovate Dr. Miller’s practice with the funds from the program you developed?”
“I did.”
He inhales deeply and when he finally meets my eyes, something raw flashes across his face. “My first reaction was to tell you everything is fine. I’ll find a solution, but fuck… I’m devastated.”
“Hey.” I wrap my arms around him and he holds on to me.
“I feel like an idiot for believing this would work. What the hell am I going to do now?”
I reach for my emotional support pickle—the lumpy green monstrosity I’ve been working on that somehow looks both alien and phallic despite my best efforts. I place it in his hands, watching his face as he registers what I’ve done.
“Here. Hold this while we talk about it.”
He stares at the pickle, momentarily thrown off his script. A small, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Are you using crochet as therapy now, Foster?”
“If it works.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “And don’t worry, it’s not nearly as anatomically questionable as your Christmas-Testicle brain. Talk to me, Adam. Please.”
His fingers close around the pickle, thumb absently tracing the uneven stitches. After a long moment, he exhales heavily.
“Two years of work,” he says finally, voice rough with emotion he’s been suppressing.
“Two damn years designing a program that would have changed how small-town veterinary care works. And now? It’s gone because some rich assholes can’t decide whether to name a building after a hunting dog or a show horse. ”
The raw hurt in his voice makes my chest ache. “What happened exactly?”
“Apparently, the college is at the whim of donors ever since the federal budget cuts. They lost some of their grants that way.” His grip on the pickle tightens.
“The family pulled their funding because the college president wasn’t ‘grateful enough’ for their previous donation. Whatever the hell that means.”
“And just like that, your program gets gutted?”
“Yep,” he says bitterly. “The worst part? I already told everyone I was going to revolutionize rural vet education. All these students I promised opportunities to.” His voice cracks slightly. “I let them all believe in something that just... evaporated.”
“You didn’t let anyone down,” I say firmly. “The donors did.”
“Doesn’t feel that way.” His laugh is hollow.
“And that’s now how they’re going to spin it.
They’re probably going to say the costs were too prohibitive.
People don’t know. They shouldn’t have to know everything, either.
I built my entire future around this program.
And now? I don’t even know what I’m moving for anymore. ”
I reach for his hand, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. “You’re still going to be an incredible teacher. And I bet there are parts of your program you can salvage.”
He looks down at our joined hands, his expression vulnerable in a way I’ve rarely seen. “Maybe.”
Something cold slithers through me as the timing registers. The program Adam’s passionate about, gutted right as we’ve started... whatever this is. The suspicious part of my brain, the part that spent three years married to Chuck, immediately starts connecting invisible dots.
“This seems... convenient,” I say, the words escaping before I can reconsider them. “The timing, I mean.”
Adam’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Chuck has connections everywhere. His father, too. And big pockets. The kind that can influence a bunch of people—” I stop myself, hearing how it sounds out loud. “Never mind. That’s ridiculous.”
Adam studies me for a long moment. “You think Chuck might have something to do with this?”
I feel heat rush to my cheeks. “I know it sounds paranoid. It’s just... Chuck had this way of making sure I never got too comfortable. Too confident.” I meet Adam’s gaze. “Anytime things started going well for me, catastrophe struck. Like clockwork.”
Blanche huffs dramatically from her dog bed in the corner, apparently expressing her opinion on Chuck’s character. I really should take my emotional cues from my Great Dane more often.
Adam is quiet for a moment, looking down at the pickle still clutched in his hand. Then he sets the laptop aside and turns to face me fully.
“Let’s check,” he says simply.
He reopens his laptop, typing with renewed purpose. After a few minutes of searching, he turns the screen toward me. “Look, it’s clearly about these donors. Their fight over naming rights has been brewing for months.”
The tension drains from my shoulders. “So not Chuck’s evil master plan?” My attempt at humor falls flat, embarrassment warming my cheeks at how quickly I’d jumped to conspiracy theories.
“Not unless he’s secretly the heir to a pet food fortune with a grudge against rural veterinary education.”
I groan, flopping back against the pillows. “I can’t believe that was my first thought. What does that say about me?”
Adam’s expression softens as he sets the laptop aside, still absently holding my pickle. “It says you were with someone who programmed you to see his influence everywhere.” His fingers trace my collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Doesn’t make you paranoid, Foster. Makes you a survivor.”
The word “survivor” from his lips feels different than when others say it. Not pitying or congratulatory. Just matter-of-fact. Like he sees all of me—the strength and the scars—and finds both equally compelling.
“A survivor with questionable judgment,” I mumble.
Adam’s eyes narrow slightly. “Current judgment included?”
My gaze trails down his chest to where his sweatpants ride low on his hips. “Current judgment is... pending thorough evaluation.”
He looks down at the pickle in his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for this, by the way.”
“For what? A deformed crochet project?”
“For listening to me.” His voice drops lower. “For being here.”
“You’re not the only one recovering Don’t-Ask-For-Help person,” I say quietly. “Chuck trained me to keep everything inside too. To act like nothing affected me.”
He pauses, looking down at the pickle like it might offer him answers.
He looks at me then. “Turns out growth’s more… seasonal than I thought. Not linear. Just showing up, sometimes better, sometimes messier.”
I nod, my throat tightening. “Like grief. Like healing. Like trusting someone again after someone else made that feel like a stupid idea.”
His fingers brush mine. “We’re not stupid. Just learning. And maybe a little tired.”
“We can learn together,” I say, reaching up to touch his face. “You show me how to trust again. I’ll show you how to lean sometimes.”
He lifts the pickle between us with a smile that finally reaches his eyes. “And we’ll always have emotional support vegetables to get us through.”
A slow smile spreads across my face as I lean closer, my heart lighter. “As a medical professional, I assume you know the importance of comprehensive teamwork.”
“Very comprehensive,” he agrees, setting the pickle carefully on the nightstand before pulling me closer. “Multiple approaches. Collaborative problem-solving.”
Adam makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat spiraling through me. “I’ve always been thorough, Foster.” His lips brush the sensitive spot below my ear. “Ask any of my patients.”
“I’d rather conduct my own research,” I manage before his mouth claims mine, his kiss deep and demanding in a way that makes me forget about funding cuts and ex-husbands and paranoia.
Dorothy chooses this exact moment to leap onto the bed with a territorial bark, wedging herself between us with impressive determination for a dachshund.
“Your timing needs work,” Adam tells her, but there’s amusement in his voice as he scratches behind her ears.
I can’t help laughing, the tension of the moment broken. “They must have passed each other a memo on when to interrupt. Taken lessons from Sally’s School of Meddling.”
Adam’s expression softens as he looks at me across Dorothy’s triumphant form. “Thank you again. For making me smile, too. And for everything. Together, I do feel like we might find a solution. Or I don’t know, find a way to deal with it.”
That simple “together” lands somewhere beneath my ribs, warming me from the inside out. Not everything is Chuck’s doing. Not every setback is a machination designed to hurt me. And not every man is waiting for me to fail.
Some are just waiting for the dog to fall back asleep so they can resume more important activities.
Like thorough medical research. And learning how to be strong together instead of alone.