Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(24)

That’s really not an option for me, so I made sure she knew how thankful I was. I wasn’t sure if it was kosher or not, but I brought her a bouquet of flowers on Tuesday to let her know it was appreciated.

No other therapist is going to work for me. Has nothing to do with the unique nature of this ranch or how the horses are used to get people to open up. I haven’t touched a horse yet—thank fuck—but it has everything to do with Nora.

Not only was a bond established when she told me about her past, letting me know I’m not alone in my feelings, but trust was formed when she shared with me first. Just knowing she has experienced every terrible feeling I have and still managed to overcome her pain gave me a renewed sense of purpose.

For fuck’s sake—the woman gives me hope.

While it’s been hard talking through my feelings this week, it had to be done. We spent our entire Tuesday session talking about MJ. Not about the crash or how she died, but about what MJ meant to me. Nora encouraged me to spend that time reflecting on happier moments. Had me really latch on and savor them. At one point, she even got me to laugh when she asked me to tell her the funniest thing MJ had ever done. I relayed a story about how she’d pranked me once by putting a fake spider in my car. After I laughed until my stomach hurt, I got incredibly sad and depressed, though.

Didn’t cry, but I went utterly quiet, feeling the weight of what I’d lost.

Nora just let me be alone… in my silence. She waited until I was ready to talk again.

Yeah… rough, but also incredibly helpful. By Thursday, I felt stronger. I didn’t flinch when Nora had me talk about my grief.

I got through it.

Which makes me wonder if our sessions are why I’m out furniture shopping right now. Have I moved into a headspace where I can think about establishing a real home?

It has to be something like that because I fucking hate shopping. And yet, I follow the saleswoman around the store while she shows me living room and bedroom sets to choose from. It also makes me think I may perhaps need something a little bit better than the dumpy apartment I’m currently in. It’s not exactly in the best neighborhood, and there’s a lot of noise through the night with people yelling through paper-thin walls and parties going on.

My phone chimes to alert me to a text, and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s from Dax.

Think you can swing by my place to check on Regan?

My heart rate speeds up a bit as I reply. She okay?

Yup. Fine… or so she says. But I’m a worrier. Can you check? Don’t let her know I sent you.

I snort, wondering if I ever acted that way about MJ. I can’t recall going to that extent, but I certainly appreciate Dax’s concern.

Dax’s wife, Regan, holds a special place in my heart because of the way she’d once gotten me to open up to her. Last week, she landed in the hospital due to her exceedingly rare blood disease. She needed a transfusion, which righted her symptoms for the time being, and she was supposedly doing well.

At least that’s what Dax reported during practice this week. But the team is now at an away game, so I imagine he might be a little freaked. It’s her first day alone since she got out of the hospital earlier this week.

I’m on my way there now, I text.

I owe you big, buddy, he replies.


I like Regan a lot. She was a huge catalyst in pushing me toward admitting I really wanted to stay on this team. When she gave me a ride to the game last weekend, I had a good time with her. She’s easy to talk to, witty, and also doesn’t chatter up a storm.

In other words, she didn’t make me feel like I had to keep up a running conversation with her.

At the game, she got down to business as a fan and player’s wife, taking every single moment out there seriously. The girl knows the game, mostly because her late brother Lance was a professional player, too. She knows the rules, the strategies, and the players. Regan can more intelligently discuss the game on a deeper level than most people I know, so yeah… I had a great time with her.

Which all means I don’t mind running by to check on her. It’s the least I can do for not only her, but also for Dax, too. He’s been gently pushing me in a supportive way over the last several weeks. At some point, I’m going to have to tell the dude I really appreciate it.

The Uber driver stops perpendicular to the driveway. I’m confused by the two cars already parked there. If Regan has company, I’ll just do a quick peek to ensure she’s fine before reporting to Dax.

Rapping sharply on the door, I step back and wait. Mumbled voices sound faintly and the door swings open, revealing a surprised Regan.

“Hey,” she says with a bright smile. “What are you doing here?”

Remembering not to give away Dax’s request to check up on her, I shrug. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood and had time on my hands. Thought I’d say hello.”

“That’s awesome,” she replies enthusiastically. “Come in.”

The wonderful smell of vanilla and chocolate hits my nose when I cross the threshold. As Regan shuts the door, she raises her voice, sounding like she’s trying to stifle a giggle. “Look who’s here, ladies. Now it’s a real party.”

What the what?

Jerking my head toward the kitchen, I see Brooke and Pepper, both wearing aprons. Brooke has a large glass bowl supported in one arm, the other stirring something inside it.