Page 13

GAGE

I’m not thrilled about bringing Rory back here already.

When she brought up the idea of coming to visit the dogs over breakfast this morning, my immediate response was that it’s too soon.

After all, it’s been less than seventy-two hours since she was attacked, her blossoming bruises a violent reminder of just how close to dying she came.

She’s still wincing when she swallows and flinching at bright lights.

Her movements are slow and cautious. And her nightmares…

Well, I had a front-row seat to one of them, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

I hated leaving Rory last night, but I knew it was well-past time that I spent some actual time at home. I needed more than a fifteen minute break in the shower to give my raw and aching leg a chance to recover.

Could I have taken my prosthetic off at Rory’s cabin? Yes.

Did I want to? No way.

Intellectually, I know my missing foot is nothing to be ashamed of. That anyone who judges me for it isn’t someone I want to spend time with. I have friends who proudly run marathons with their prosthetics on full display; who wear shorts in public without worrying about what people think of it.

Though it’s been four years since the accident. I’m still not there yet. And especially not when it comes to Rory.

Call it vain, but I don’t want Rory to see me as broken.

So I reluctantly went back home last night, leaving her with instructions to call if she needed me for anything. “I’m literally minutes away,” I reminded her, “and I can come any time. In an hour, the middle of the night, whenever. Just call.”

She didn’t call, though she did text a couple of times to let me know she was okay.

I worried all night, going as far as walking down the road after midnight so I could see if her lights were still on or if she’d gone to bed.

The lights were on. Which made me worry even more.

But it didn’t feel right to just show up without an invitation. And in the middle of the night, no less. So I went back home and spent the rest of the night worrying.

What if she had another nightmare, but this time there was no one around to comfort her?

What if she had a flashback?

What if Rory was scared, all alone in an unfamiliar place, but didn’t feel comfortable asking for help?

By seven AM, I couldn’t take it any more. I showed up at Rory’s door with coffee and freshly made donuts from Breakfast Bliss, hoping I wasn’t being too presumptuous.

From the pleased look on her face and the eager rumble of her stomach, it didn’t seem like I was.

As Rory hummed in pleasure over the blueberry muffin donut she’d chosen, flashing little smiles at me between bites, I could almost imagine we were in a different situation. That she was my girlfriend and this was our Saturday morning routine—sharing breakfast before we made our plans for the day.

If only.

If only I could get out of my head.

If only I was the old Gage, whole and strong, instead of the wounded man I’ve become.

We were almost finished with breakfast when Rory floated her idea of coming back to see the dogs. “I’d really like to check on the dogs,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t think Ronan and Max are doing a good job, but they know me. And I just… I’d really like to see for myself that they’re okay.”

That’s when I tried to gently suggest waiting a little longer. “You’re still recovering,” I explained, “and the doctor said to take it easy. To get plenty of rest. What if we wait until Monday? I can ask Ronan to send some videos in the meantime. Would that work instead?”

“Just for an hour,” she reasoned. “I wouldn’t do anything strenuous. Just visit with the dogs. Make sure they know I haven’t forgotten about them.”

And really, when she looked at me with those pleading eyes and hopeful expression, how could I say no?

“Only an hour,” I agreed grudgingly. “And no playing with the dogs like you usually do. Just petting. And treats. How does that sound?”

A bright smile lit up her face. “That’s perfect, Gage. Thank you.”

So here we are; back at her property against my better judgment.

Is this how Knox and Enzo feel when Lark and Winter ask them to do something they’d rather not?

Like the happiness of the person they care about is more important than anything else?

But Knox and Enzo are in real relationships, while Rory and I are just friends. So it should be different.

Why doesn’t it feel that way, then?

Just as we’re pulling into Rory’s driveway, she glances over at me from the passenger seat. With a small smile she says, “Thank you for bringing me here, Gage. I know you didn’t want to.”

“It’s not that,” I reply. “I know you want to see the dogs. I’m just worried about you trying to do too much too soon.”

“I won’t. Just treats and pets. I promise.”

The truck hits a bump and Rory winces at the motion.

She tries to play it off as another smile, but I can tell the difference.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I fight the instinctive urge to turn around and go home.

To whisk Rory back to her cabin and convince her to rest instead of continuing on this trip that I’m really not sure is a good idea.

“I’m fine,” Rory insists, somehow reading my mind. Then she pats my leg, and my brain short circuits for a second.

It’s an innocent gesture, more reassuring than anything else. But my body has a different idea. Everything narrows to the feel of her small hand on my leg and the riot of sensation that follows.

A beat later, she pulls her hand away and clasps it with the other. Her gaze slides to the side window. Pink touches her cheeks. “Anyway,” she adds quickly, almost too brightly, “I’m feeling much better today. Just a small headache, and my throat is nearly back to normal.”

“I’m glad,” I reply, biting my tongue against the warnings that want to come out. “And I’m sure the dogs will be happy to see you.”

“I hope so.” As we approach the barn, Rory leans forward in her seat.

“I really hate leaving them, especially considering how much instability they’ve been through already.

Last month, I had to go to Texas to meet Isla’s baby—” She stops.

“I mean, I wanted to go. Of course. But I felt bad about leaving the dogs. The volunteers from the Stowe shelter are nice, and I was glad they agreed to help out, but it’s not the same as being here. You know?”

“If you want to go to Texas again, I can watch the dogs.”

Rory’s head jerks towards me. “But what about your work? Watching the dogs is a big time commitment.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just let the guys know I can’t take on any jobs until you’re back. And my day job is pretty much all remote, except for a couple in-person meetings a year. So it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Gage.” Her voice softens. “If you’re sure. I would feel so much better if you were watching them. Not that I have plans to go to Texas for a while, but just in case…”

“I’m sure.” And now that I brought it up, I’m kicking myself for not offering last month. No, I didn’t know Rory was leaving until a few days before, and she’d already made arrangements with the shelter in Stowe, but I could have made it work. The guys on the team would have understood.

But last month, I was still telling myself I didn’t want more commitment than a once-a-week visit. I thought distance would make me want Rory less.

It didn’t.

“Is that Max?” Rory nods in the direction of a tall, dark-haired man standing out front of the barn.

“Yeah, that’s Max.” I raise my hand as we approach, and he gives a quick wave in response. “Some people are a little intimidated by him at first, but he’s a great guy.”

Her brow creases for a moment before she says, “I guess I could see that. He’s pretty big, isn’t he?”

“I think he said he’s six-six,” I reply. “So pretty tall, I guess.”

As I say it, a flash of jealousy hits me. Not about his height—I’m satisfied with my own six foot two—but suddenly I’m wondering what’ll happen when Max meets Rory. Will he flirt with her? Dare to ask her out?

And would she say yes?

Will I have to sit back and watch Rory date my friend?

For the second time in so many minutes, I contemplate turning around and going home.

But what would I tell Rory? I’m worried that she’ll decide she likes Max better than me?

And really, who would I have to blame but myself?

Gritting my teeth, I slow the truck to a stop. Then I force a smile as I say, “Let me come around, okay, Ror? Since it’s a big step down to the ground.”

Instead of arguing that she can do it herself, she gives me a soft look. “Okay, Gage. I’ll wait.”

But that asshole Max beats me to it.

No, he’s not really an asshole. But ten different curse words fly through my head as I watch Max open the passenger door and extend his hand out to Rory, smiling kindly as he does it.

Seconds later, my jealousy shifts to concern. Instead of taking Max’s hand, Rory stiffens. Her shoulders hunch up. Her gaze flickers to me, uncertainty in her eyes.

A surge of protectiveness slams into me so swift and intense, it steals my breath.

Even though I know damn well he would never hurt her, that he’s only being polite, probably wanting to be helpful considering what he knows of Rory’s injuries, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at him.

But before I can tell Rory it’s okay to wait for me, she takes a deep breath and grasps Max’s hand, allowing him to help her down.

I practically leap out of the truck, hurrying around to the other side of it. As I come around the hood, I hear Max saying, “The dogs have been great. So well behaved. And that Charlie, he’s such a cute little guy. I have to admit, I’m tempted to adopt him myself.”

“I’m sure he’d love that,” Rory replies. “And thank you so much for helping out.”

She sounds normal. Pleasant. Interested ?

But when I see Rory’s face, I can immediately tell something’s wrong. It’s not obvious, like a blatant frown or even fear, like I’ve seen in some women’s eyes when they see Max for the first time.