Page 95 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

“You should go.” I hold my apartment door open.

My boyfriend looks at me in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought things were good.”

“I’m moving, and I… I like you, but I don’t want to do long distance.”

It’s true. I am moving.

But in three weeks. And only thirty minutes away. I just… This is for the best.

“I’m sorry,” I add.

My composure is slipping, and I need him to leave.

I need him to leave so I can have my fifth breakdown in as many days.

He lifts his hands, then drops them to his side. “I can’t change your mind?”

When I shake my head, he sighs and walks out.

I open the next box and finally find the plates I was looking for.

I’ve only unpacked about a third of my stuff into the new apartment, but it’s only been a few days.

I sent my dad my new address today, and he called immediately, asking why I didn’t tell him sooner so he could’ve come to help.

It took fucking everything I had to keep it together, lying and saying I had help.

He would’ve come. I knew that. And that’s why I didn’t tell him.

Because if Dad were here, I’d end up telling him about it .

And I… I just don’t want to make him worry.

Everything will be fine.

I’m sure of it.

So he doesn’t need to know.

Not now.

Maybe someday.

A calendar notification pops up on my laptop screen.

Surgery tomorrow at seven a.m.

“Hi, Kendra. Can you hear me? How are you feeling?”

The voice bobs around me as I blink my eyes open.

“Wha…”

“Kendra, you just had surgery. The tumor removal was successful.”

The nurse helps me into the wheelchair, then helps me to the main entrance of the hospital.

My friend already has her car pulled up to the front of the hospital.

A hospital that is only a five-minute drive from my apartment.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay until your mom comes?” my friend asks as she pulls up to my building.

“I’m sure.”

My mom isn’t coming.

I never told her either.

Taking the final prescribed pain pill, I set the empty bottle down on the bathroom counter.

I tap my fingers against the tile, then I pick up the business card that’s been propped against my mirror for a week.

I carry it out to the living room and carefully lower myself onto the couch.

Then I dial the number.

“Hello, this is Doctor Merideth’s office.”

I swallow. “Hi, um, I think I need to talk to someone.”