Page 17 of Gideon’s Gratitude (Love in Mission City #5)

Chapter Seven

Gideon

M orning dawned gray and dark. Lucky licking my hand continuously had me rolling out of bed. Gingerly. The slathering of saliva wasn’t a good habit, but the dog was letting me know he needed to go out, so I trudged down the stairs and opened the back door.

My black ball of fur barreled into the woods at the back of the property.

We’d spent serious time defining boundaries. The dog was whip-smart and caught on quickly. The only time he deviated was when he sensed new people next door.

Going to have to break him of that habit.

He couldn’t be heading over to Archer’s every time someone new appeared.

Trudging to the kettle, I filled it with water and set it to boil. Some peppy tea this morning was in order. I loved coffee, but the potent brew messed with my sleep. Like last night. Shouldn’t have had the java at Fifties. Half a night of tossing and turning. Not good.

I stretched, trying to work out the kinks. I’d skipped my exercises yesterday and was likely to pay for that today as well. After scouting out bread and peanut butter, I opened the door, and an enthusiastic Lucky barreled in.

I touched the dog’s damp back. No rain, but clearly there was misting. Have to check the forecast . And today was group chat. I had an hour to make myself presentable. I resisted video, but the other men insisted.

Adrian admitted, privately, he needed the connection. His isolation was as deep as my own.

Geoffrey kept his camera off, but Lance and Val kept theirs on.

We five men were as different as we could be, but with one thing in common. We’d all lost custody of our children and were barred from seeing them for various reasons.

When I discovered this group, I’d been leery. Why would these guys be out in the cold? Except I was, so perhaps they had valid reasons as well.

Geoffrey’s ex had moved back to Spain, leaving him in San Diego with no way to see them.

Lance’s ex had a restraining order against him because he’d tried to see the kids during a non-scheduled visit.

Something he’d likely never stop regretting.

Plus, he had gambled away the trust funds of his children, left to them by their grandparents.

His ex had threatened to report him to the authorities if he didn’t back down on his request for joint custody.

Since being a felon would mean jail and losing his kids, he opted to stay away .

Adrian’s story was the most heartbreaking. As a teacher, he’d been accused by a student of molestation. Obviously, he’d lost his job, his family, and he’d been arrested. By the time the student recanted and admitted he’d made the whole thing up, the damage had been done.

In the end, it turned out the boy was being molested—by a friend of the family. The young man wanted help, but was terrified of the consequences of being honest.

By then it’d been too late. The school offered Adrian back the job he loved, but he was on constant supervision.

The police had apologized for the arrest and had gone public with the exoneration.

Too little. Too late. The marriage hadn’t been the most solid to start with, and the fact his ex booted him without even being willing to hear his side of the story hadn’t helped.

Adrian figured with being cleared, he’d at least have access to his children.

That hadn’t happened. The ex-wife’s lawyer continued to throw up roadblock after roadblock. The ex had a wealthy family backing her, while Adrian struggled to make ends meet.

Fucking divorce lawyers.

We’d found each other in an online-group setting, but we’d been shut down because of the accusation made against Adrian.

We’d moved to a secure server and a video platform.

Geoffrey paid the fees, even though he never appeared on camera.

Our ragtag support group was most of the reason I was able to go on.

And Lucky.

Couldn’t forget the dog.

I scooped the food into the bowl and said pooch attacked it ravenously.

Lucky’d been slightly annoyed at having been left alone for several hours last night. No damage had been done, and, by bedtime, all had been forgiven. The mutt had a perfectly good dog bed at the foot of mine. Yet somehow, most mornings, I had company in my own bed. The dog sprawled.

Good thing I didn’t have any nocturnal companions.

And I don’t need the hassle.

Liar .

God, I hated the voices in my head. They’d always been there. A constant companion to a lonely child. In the early days, they’d been a friend. Growing up, they’d morphed into that of my parents—always chastising me. As an adult, the voice had been my boss’s—always riding me.

These days?

Leo. Not the sweet Leo from the best days of our marriage. No, of course not. The judgemental Leo who ripped our family apart and blamed me. The cruel Leo who kept me from my children. The immovable Leo who believed I was a malingerer. Another five-dollar word. One I was intimately acquainted with.

I washed down the peanut butter toast with my cooling tea. Life felt complicated and yet achingly simple at the same time. I needed to put one foot in front of the other. I needed to support the men in the group. Then I needed to find the courage to video chat with the kids.

Easy, right?

Yeah, so not.

I put my plate in the sink upon realizing the dishwasher needed to be emptied. Which reminded me of the laundry. I’d put fresh sheets on the bed last night, but the rest of the stuff was in a pile. Good thing I don’t care about wrinkles.

Perversely, I wished Archer hadn’t stripped the bed.

I would’ve loved to sink into the sheets that smelled like the man.

A distinctive scent. Something unexpected and hard to nail down.

Definitely a woodsy scent, which seemed odd, given the man was city through and through.

If there’d been cologne, it’d been washed away by the rain.

When he’d trolled through the personal hygiene aisles last night, he’d selected practical items. Nothing fancy. Nothing like what I would’ve pegged.

More stuff that resembled my own. And, while I was obsessing over the topic—watching another man buy shaving cream and deodorant was oddly intimate.

I don’t want to be intimately acquainted with the guy .

The man who resembled my ex in so many ways—not so much with coloring, but definitely physically.

The man who was a divorce lawyer. The man who seemed as lonely as I was.

When Archer had steadied me last night, I’d have sworn something passed between the two of us.

An understanding. A spark. Just…something.

Now, in the gray light of day, that notion felt fanciful. Of course it’d been in my mind. I had nothing to offer a man like Archer. Nothing. At all. Zilch. Zip.

After I trudged upstairs, I glanced at the two closed doors and cringed. The rooms were made up for the kids. Kids who’d never come. And in return, I didn’t have an adult bed to offer Archer.

Who likely wouldn’t take it anyway, but it would’ve been nice to be able to make the offer. Pivoting back to my bedroom, I hesitated again. No, life had to be faced. I moved into the room and scooped up the laundry from the floor.

White-hot pain shot through my spine.

God damn it.

Hadn’t been paying attention. Had twisted the wrong way.

Had breathed the wrong way. Using my hand to guide me, I eased myself onto the bed.

I attempted meditation. Deep breathing. Cursing.

Anything to make the pain recede. Asking it to go away was impossible, but maybe a reprieve before I got on the video call?

No such luck.

I eyed the clock radio.

Twelve minutes.

Putting on jeans was out of the question, given the twisting and turning required, so I pulled on track pants. I was able to yank my sleep shirt over my head and slip into a button-down.

It took phenomenal effort, but I managed.

Even remembered deodorant.

Each step down the multiple staircases leading to the basement was torture. I opted to keep the computer equipment out of the way because I didn’t want to be tempted by it the rest of the time. Too easy to go down rabbit holes. To do searches on my ex. To scroll through photos of the kids.

I had two scrapbook albums I’d created. Those were tucked away inside the closet in my room. I hadn’t yet found the courage to look at them. Too painful.

The machine booted up, and I logged into the group with five seconds to spare.

An hour later I was exhausted. Nobody had been in a good mood, and that negativity seeped into my bones.

These men meant everything to me, but they also frustrated me.

As I likely did them. We were all stuck.

Nowhere to turn. No one left to beg to help.

We’d exhausted all options and were left with nothing but bitterness and resentment—both toward our exes as well as the authorities who let the estrangements carry on.

I’d shared nothing about the last thirty-six hours.

Hell, I could barely put it into words myself.

As I rose, I stretched gingerly. Last night’s journey off the mountain hadn’t eased the discomfort, although it hadn’t increased it either.

I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with Sarabeth.

Of course her feet ached at the end of a long shift.

And of course it was none of my business.

But I’d met people at the pain clinic who’d ignored pain, and for whom it was too late—the damage was done.

Lucky’s howling brought me to attention. I cursed all the stairs between me and the front door, but I hustled as much as I dared. Every step shot pain through me.

Not a good day.

As I reached the top of the stairs, Lucky bounded over, practically nudging me to move forward.

“Okay, all right. Hold on.”

I unlocked and then opened the front door, dismayed to see a figure retreating between the property lines.

“Hey.” Not as loud as I hoped, but apparently loud enough since Archer pivoted.