Page 3 of Mended Fences

How ya doin today?

I smiled to myself, even though I hated that he felt like he had to check in on me daily. Padding down the hall toward my bedroom, I typed out a quick response. I looked forward to the day when my master bath was remodeled and I could avoid these long, frigid hallway walks between the shower and bed.

ELENA

I’m fucking exhausted.

How are you?

RHETT

Workin hard. Miss you.

See you in a couple weeks?

ELENA

Absolutely. Can’t wait.

In my room, the mattress and box spring were stacked directly on the floor—I hadn’t gotten around to assembling the bed frame yet—but I’d splurged on expensive sheets. Another essential.

From my bedroom window, I could just make out a sliver ofLake Michigan between the neighboring houses, its waters dark and restless under the winter sky. Eight months ago, any view of the lake had felt like possibility. Now it felt like?—

A car door slammed somewhere outside, and I jumped, my heart racing. But it was just Mrs. Stacey next door, coming home with her groceries. Just like she did every Tuesday at this time.

Normal. Predictable. Safe.

I was safe here.

Wasn’t I?

Truth be told, I hadn’t felt safe for months—not since I was wrapped in the strong arms of the man I loved.

Chapter Two

CHASE

Now, December 2024

“Are you ready to see her?”

The leather armrest creaked under my white-knuckled grip, the sound jarring in Jackson’s too-quiet office. That damn white noise machine hummed in the corner, supposedly soothing but really just masking the thunder of my pulse in my ears.

Elena.

Eighty-four days since I’d last seen her, since she’d stood over me in that sterile hospital room, her doctor mask firmly in place while she stitched up what was left of me. The only thing that had hurt worse than my injuries was watching her maintain that professional distance, treating me like any other addict in the ER instead of... instead of whatever we’d been to each other.

My stomach lurched. Not from withdrawal—those days ofhugging the toilet were finally behind me—but from remembering how steady her hands had been while her eyes had told a different story. Disappointment. Fear. Grief. Everything she wouldn’t say out loud because she was Dr. Stone in that moment, not my Elena.

“Ready? Yes,” I managed, though my mouth felt desert-dry. “Prepared? Fuck no.”

Jackson leaned forward in his chair, that calm therapist expression I’d grown to both hate and depend on these past twelve weeks plastered across his face. “You’re prepared, Chase. You’ve put in the work.”

The clock on his wall ticked away another precious second. Another moment I wasn’t with her. The sound had driven me crazy during those first few sessions, when the coke cravings had my skin crawling and my brain screaming for just one more hit. Now it was just background noise to the constant loop of Elena’s voice in my head, the way she’d last looked at me—hurt, disappointed, scared.

Never again. I’d rather die than put that look back in her eyes.

“Run it back for me one more time,” Jackson prompted, his Mont Blanc pen poised over that familiar yellow legal pad.