Crazy Girl(89)

I didn’t stop once on my way to his place, even when my gas light came on. I was so full of sadness and fear. And shame. I had turned this man away, convinced he would only add to my hardships; break my heart. I didn’t want to feel that kind of hurt again. He’d called me a coward. He had been right. I’d let my past shame me into submission and because of that I’d never move forward or achieve anything great again unless I stopped it.

My stomach flipped and nausea set in as I turned on his road. Showing up unannounced was guaranteed to be shocking to him after the way things were left between us. This would be no small cost of my pride either. What if he had guests over? I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he was entertaining another woman—the thought made me want to hurl. It had been months. If he was, what right did I have to have any feeling about it? I’d pushed him away. Another horrific thought added to the dizziness—what if he refused to speak with me? He’d done it before. Blatant rejection would probably crush me as much as if he had a date over.

His truck wasn’t in the driveway. He wasn’t home. I parked and turned the engine off, chewing my lip nervously as I battled with myself. This was a terrible imposition. And it wasn’t fair to Wren. What would I say when he got here? I’m sorry I acted like an ass, please comfort me after this horrible day I’ve had? I’ll make more sense tomorrow, but for now I need you to hold me? Anxiety lodged in my throat as I realized I fled to Wren in need of comfort, but if he rejected me or I saw him with another woman, it would only sink me that much more. Yes, I wanted him to comfort me. But the why was what was most important. Support could be found anywhere. I needed it from him. From the person I loved. I wasn’t sure I could take it if he didn’t feel the same. I started my car, prepared to speed out of there, when headlights appeared.

Wren was home.

There was no backing out now.





Feelings





It had been a long day. I’d just driven one of our students to the airport. He’d failed our course that day. Once they failed, they were out. There were no second chances. Of course I didn’t like seeing a man fail. It sucked. But it was another one of those instances where I shut off the feeling valve. Failure was a part of life. It was where a person’s integrity and drive was tested. You could either fall apart, or you could take it, learn from it, and move forward a wiser man. Though I felt bad for this student, I had little tolerance for emotion. A grown man crying like a baby in the car for over an hour as I drove him to the airport was enough to make me lose my fucking mind.

“Please. Isn’t there a way for me to get a second chance?” he’d dribbled, wiping snot from his nose with his arm.

Many considered me emotionless; unfeeling. Especially when it came to my career as an instructor. But I simply stayed disconnected. My job wasn’t to coddle these people, or to be their friend. If they succeeded I wasn’t going to throw them a party and hand out trophies. The same theory applied if they failed—I wasn’t going to hold their hand and give out hugs. He’d failed. Hadn’t studied enough or shown the effort needed to make it. And now he wanted sympathy he didn’t deserve. He needed to toughen up and keep his shit together. He got so emotional at one point I pulled the car over.

“You’re done. There are no second chances. If you can’t stop crying, get out and find another way to the airport.”

He stared at me, wide-eyed and shocked. But I didn’t blink or stutter. He could either cut the pity party bullshit, or walk. Quickly, he’d wiped his wet face and bobbed his head once, letting me know he’d be quiet. To his credit, he didn’t make another peep the rest of the journey. Life had consequences. And you weren’t given shit you didn’t earn. People had a tendency to forget that. After I dropped him off, I took the long drive home, wanting nothing more than silence, a cold beer, and a hot shower. I was fucking exhausted. We’d been working outside all day, and I smelled as bad as I felt. So when I pulled in my driveway and Hannah’s car came into sight, I couldn’t say I was thrilled. I was far from being in the mood to deal with self-imposed drama, and she always seemed to be knee-deep in it. She reminded me of the guy I’d just disposed of. A person who didn’t own up to their participation to the shit shows they created. She was standing in front of my truck by the time I climbed out of it, her frail arms crossed, her shoulders bunched. She’d lost weight. I could tell by the slight hollowness of her cheeks. Her asking for things she didn’t give herself radiated off her stance. And I was too physically and mentally drained to do this song and dance. Not tonight. I realized I missed many things about her, but the drama wasn’t one of them.

“Hi,” she murmured after I shut the driver’s side door.

I pressed my lips together as I stood before her, holding my gym bag in one hand and lunch cooler in the other. I didn’t know what to say. Why was she here? Last time I’d seen her, she’d rambled on about everything but the issues she brought to the table.

She studied my face for a moment, her gaze filled with concern. I still donned a nasty black eye from my fight with Henry. To his credit, he’d been a better fighter than I’d thought he’d be, but in the end, he’d been out cold on the ground. And when he came to, I helped him up and we walked back inside together. Things have been cordial enough ever since. “Your eye?”