Worth the Risk(100)

Please take care of yourself.

Love,

Sidney



I stare at the letter. At her penmanship, which is curvy and perfect just like her. I read it over again and have to turn my back to Luke so he doesn’t see what it looks like for a woman to bring a man to his knees like Sidney just did.

Holy shit. She really left.





My first night back in my penthouse, and it feels nothing like when I left it.

It’s cold.

It’s empty.

I curl my knees up into Grayson’s shirt that I took with me, and I cry myself to sleep.





Him texting me was inevitable, but when he finally does three days later, it’s crippling.



Grayson: You left without saying goodbye.



I stare at his text for the longest time, trying to figure out how to take it. Is he angry? Is he surprised? Is he disbelieving?



Me: I thought we had already said goodbye.



Grayson: You didn’t even tell me you were leaving early . . . but you told Luke?



Me: I didn’t want him to think I abandoned him. That was very important to me. And you? It was just easier this way.



Grayson: Easier for who?



Me: You. Me. I don’t really know anymore.



Grayson: Neither do I.



I stare at my phone—so many words I need to say, his voice the one thing I desperately want to hear—and I close my eyes as I remember everything about him.



Me: I’m sorry.



Grayson: So am I.



Clutching my phone to my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t even bother to fight the tears.

Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder.

Distance makes you want the person more.

Distance makes you realize just what the hell you are missing.

That wrecking ball didn’t do me any damn favors.

Deep breath. This will get easier in time.

It has to because, right now, this sucks.





My chest burns.

I focus on my breathing. On the cadence of my steps. But it doesn’t matter how fast I run or how much distance I cover because her goddamn letter is on repeat in my mind.

Just like it was last night. And the night before that. And on and on.

Fuck.

She’ll be back in a week, my ass.

The Kraft house is empty. All her stuff is gone. The vase where she kept the dead flowers she didn’t realize I’d noticed has been emptied. The hose she’d always leave stretched across the drive is rolled up on its hook. The blinds on the house are pulled closed.

She’s gone for good.

And I’m running. I run. Because I’m being a dick to everyone around me, taking this out on Luke with a short temper when it’s no one’s fault but my own. When I’m the only one who can fix this. But I can’t until I make sure my head’s as straight as it can be.

I run until I can’t run anymore. Until the lactic acid makes my muscles seize and my lungs can’t catch air fast enough. It’s only then that I collapse on the side of the track of Sunnyville High School and just lie there with my arm hooked over my eyes and my body exhausted in every way possible.

“I haven’t seen you run in years.” I should have known he’d find me here. I should have known he’d be the one to notice. “Not since before . . .”

Not since Claire left me, he means.

“Leave it, Dad,” I huff, but I don’t uncover my eyes, even though I know he’s leaning over me, blocking the sun for me.

“Nah. Not this time. I’ve left it for too damn long.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, well, neither am I. I’m not in the mood to watch my son suffer any more than he’s already suffered when the answer’s right in front of his damn nose.”

“Christ.”

“You’re going to need a lot more than Christ, son, if you don’t straighten up and listen when I tell you you’re being a total dumbass for letting that woman walk out without a fight.”

“It’s none of your business, Dad.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You’re my business. Luke’s my business.”

“She left. Can’t fight for someone who didn’t stay.”

He mutters something under his breath, and I’m pretty sure he was calling me something. “Of course she left. I didn’t see you fighting for her. Did you ask her to stay?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.” I move my arm just enough that I can peek up at him. He’s standing over me, hands on his hips, and that look that says, “I’m the chief of police, you’ll do as I say,” written all over him.

“That’s a bullshit excuse. Most of the time, life is complicated. Life is putting yourself on the line and taking your chances.”

I snort. “Been there. Done that. Been burned.”

“That was eight years ago. Don’t you think you’ve changed? Matured? Grown into a better man? Don’t you think you deserve a second shot at happiness? I think you do.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Look, it’s honorable that you try to be all Luke needs, but someday, he’s going to grow up, move out, have a life of his own . . . then where will you be? Alone.”