Page 35 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

HARLOWE

Knocking wakes me from a deep sleep and I roll over.

The towel I fell asleep in is long gone—balled up at my feet.

I find a blanket wrapped around me instead.

Everything is fuzzy. I remember fragments from my dreams and I’m as tired, as if I hadn’t slept at all.

In the light of day, reality is no less painful than when sleep finally took me after my shower last night.

The knocking comes again—insistent, but not urgent—as I sit up and reach for my robe, slipping it on over bare skin.

I expect to find my dad on the other side of the door.

But it’s Atlas. And Echo.

I blink, already crouching down for some love. Echo nuzzles his head under my arm like he’s been gone a month. His fur is warm and familiar and everything inside me softens as I press my face into it.

Then I look up. “Why do you have my dog?” My voice is hoarse from crying all night.

“Your dad and I ran into each other at Powderline when I stopped to grab this.” He holds up a coffee cup and a bag. “I told him I was heading back to check on you. I hope that’s okay.”

“And he just handed over my dog?”

“I mean . . . I am a vet, and to him I’m your boyfriend so . . .”

Everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours makes the story we’ve been feeding the town—the lies we’ve told—feel utterly stupid and trivial. “Yeah. Sorry—still a little out of it. Did you want to come in or are you just dropping Echo off?”

“I promised I’d come back to check on you and I meant it. You might want to be alone, but you shouldn’t be isolated.”

Isolated is exactly how I normally handle a death in the field.

My dad knows this better than anyone. It’s the same way he used to handle it.

He probably handed over Echo thinking I’d take my dog and turn Atlas away.

And maybe in the past I would’ve, but there’s something comforting about how he knows his grief and struggles so well.

How he takes them head on and how he talks about them.

I love my dad, but he doesn’t show his emotions the same way Atlas does. He shows them through space and quiet support—through knowing I needed someone to take Echo last night, showing up to do that, and then giving me the distance I’ve always wanted in times like these.

But this promotion is going to put me in a position where my team is looking to me for guidance under the worst conditions and I don’t want them to think they can’t feel what they need to in order to process a tragedy.

“Do you need to head back to work right away?” I step back, holding the door for him.

“I rearranged some things to take a longer lunch today.”

“Like appointments?”

“Mostly paperwork. I always block an hour midday in case I get behind. And on the rare occasion I don’t, it’s just time to catch up on other things.”

“And you’re using that time to bring me coffee and lunch?”

“Would you have eaten if I hadn’t?”

Probably not, but I get the feeling it was rhetorical.

“It’s just coffee, donuts, and a banana. I didn’t expect you to have much of an appetite.”

I think about how much effort it took to get my arms into the sleeves of my robe. “The banana actually sounds good.”

“The soreness?”

“Yeah.” We’re beyond hiding the obvious from each other at this point.

He leads the way to the couch and peels the banana before handing it over. “Does the department require you to talk to anyone after an on-the-job loss?”

“It’s encouraged but not required and highly underutilized.”

“If you decide you want someone to talk to, and you’d rather not talk to someone associated with the department, I have a telehealth provider that has helped me with strategies to process the grief I take on at work.”

I nod, filing it away for later. It’s too much to process at the moment.

“You don’t have to make that decision now. But if, or when, you’re ready, let me know. Right now, you should eat and rest.”

“Eat and rest,” I repeat, slowly. Tears swell at my lash line for the hundredth time in the last twelve hours.

“So fucking mundane. Morgan’s family would probably sell their souls for a little mundane right now.

I feel like I should do something. The thought of just sitting here makes my skin crawl. ”

“What do you want to do?”

Go back in time; get there sooner. Change the past and keep her from ever falling. “I want to go visit the Freeland’s in the hospital, bring Morgan’s mom a coffee, give her a hug, and answer any question she might have. I want an update on Morgan’s dad—to know his prognosis. Maybe I can . . .”

Atlas’s hands cover mine. “Slow down, darling.” He ducks his head. “You can do all that—I’ll even go with you—but let’s pick a starting point.”

I glance down at the untouched banana. “Maybe I'll start with a few bites of this.”

“Probably a solid plan. Once you’ve done that, we can figure out everything else in time.”

Nothing sits well about the first bite of banana.

Not the soft texture, not the taste. It’s like cement on my tongue, almost too heavy to swallow.

The only reason I’m able to swallow that one bite is because Atlas hands me my coffee.

When I shake my head and hand the banana back, he doesn’t push it, just folds the peel over it, setting it on the coffee table, and sits with me in silence as I sip my coffee and stare at the wall.

He stays until he has to go back to the office and leaves me with a kiss softly brushed across my temple and a promise to check in later. I nod and croak out a flat “Thank you.” I wish I could give him more, tell him how much it means, but I just can’t.

And somehow I think he gets that.