Page 6 of Wildest Forever (Lovelock Bay #3)

With one last heavy sigh, I nod to myself and walk into my bedroom, dragging my jeans up my legs and buttoning them, I pull a loose tee over my head before sitting on the edge of my bed and rooting through my bottom drawer where my socks are.

Slipping on a pair of cream socks with pretty sunflowers on, I smile at the nickname Pacey muttered a few weeks back.

I knew it was just a coincidence, but still, it kind of made my heart glow a little.

Slipping my feet into my old but comfortable cowgirl boots, I push up and grab my matching tanned cowboy hat.

Pulling a brush through my long blonde hair, I tug at the knots before placing my cowgirl hat on my dressing table.

Pulling on the small drawer, I pick out my concealer, mascara and lip balm.

Swiping it under my eyes, and dotting it over a couple of spots, I blend it in with my fingertip before coating my lashes in three strokes of mascara.

Applying the soft lip balm to my full, dry lips, I rub them together and slip it into my back pocket.

Tousling my fingers in the root of my blonde hair, I decide I need a bit of color to my cheeks, so I add some cream pink blush and blend it up my cheek bones.

Sure, I work my fingers to the bone on the ranch and get dirt under my nails, but it still doesn't stop me from wanting to put my make up on and look nice.

I was a girly girl.

Pink was my color.

Rom-coms were my jam.

Taylor Swift was my music of choice.

I liked ice coffees, losing myself in happily ever afters in the form of romance books and I adored getting flowers.

I wasn't a materialistic girl, but I liked the smaller things.

A little piece of jewellery that reminded someone of me when they saw it, any type of flower—but sunflowers were my favorite—a cupcake, an apple from an orchard or even a little penned note with the words ‘ I love you’ tucked onto my pillow for me to see when I wake.

I was a simple girl.

Grabbing my hat, I pop it on my head and pull on my door.

The creak making me freeze. I knew the door creaked, yet I still do it most mornings.

I didn't want to wake pops up but once I was out on the landing, I saw the orange glow of the light from the kitchen and I knew he was already up, no doubt a pot of hot coffee already brewed and my favorite cereal out on the side.

Moving down the stairs slowly, I stepped off the bottom one and plastered a fake smile on my face as I moved around the door frame and saw him sitting at the small, worn, untreated wooden table reading yesterday's newspaper.

I never knew why he did it, just knew he always had.

“Morning,” I walk towards him, leaning down and placing a kiss on the top of his thick, gray hair just as he tilts his head back, a warm, infectious smile on his face, dimples pressed into his full cheeks and my heart throbs in my chest.

“Morning sweetheart,” his voice is raspy as I look at his near empty coffee cup and swipe it from the table before I place it on the counter top and reach for my own mug off the branch stand and place it beside his.

Glancing over my shoulder, he is back to reading his paper.

Sighing, I press onto my tip toes and reach for the old ice cream tub that houses his pills and vitamins and line them up on the side.

Walking towards the fridge, I grab a large blood-orange and place it on a chopping board and slice a knife through it before putting it on a plate and dusting it with a small shimmer of brown sugar.

Pacing back towards the fridge, I grab the fresh orange juice and top up a small glass and walk over to where he sits, placing my hand on his shoulder as I place the glass in front of him.

He gives me that look.

The one he does every morning when he is down here with me.

The one where he silently begs me not to wait on him and administer his meds.

But it's always been this way.

It's always just been me and him.

My pops has always had heart issues, but five years ago he was diagnosed with a terminal illness and well, things haven't been the same since.

These small, little mundane things that I do for him seem more important now, seem to have more meaning than they once did.

Because I have no idea if this will be the last morning, I prepare his fruit, his small glass of orange juice or to sort his pills into size order before giving them to him to take.

Everything means a little more than before and again that makes my heart ache deep in my chest.

I place a kiss on the top of his head as I turn and reach for his fruit and his tablets, and like always, I place his plate down first then line his tablets up and I have no idea why, but I always watch as he takes every single one, swallowing it down with his juice.

I know he isn't going to not take them, but it makes something settle inside of me knowing that I have witnessed him taking them.

“Good job,” I praise like always then dust across the floor to fill up our coffee mugs but not before adding creamer and a scoop of sugar in mine.

Pops takes his black and bitter.

I take mine white and sweet.

Once I know he has everything he needs, I reach for my fruit loops and cover them with milk before I perch myself on the wooden chair.

He sits with his back to the kitchen; I sit at his right side.

It's always been that way.

I ask how he slept; he gives me a grunt and then we sit in silence whilst we eat.

Clearing the table, I brown his wholemeal toast and slice a banana as I re-plate it up and place it in front of him.

“I'll see you tonight, okay?”

He nods.

“Come back for twelve though, I need you to sign the paperwork,” and I watch as he rolls his lips into a thin line, a grimace apparent over his face and I push a fake smile onto my own lips.

“Okay,” I tuck my chair under the table then curl my fingers around the top of it. “Any request for lunch?”

He sits back in his chair, folding his newspaper and placing it beside his toast.

“Would you mind popping to Sunny's and grabbing me a bowl of soup and a seeded roll?” and I wink at him.

“Of course I can.”

“You're my angel,” his words make my chest tighten and I drop my head for a moment, so he doesn't see the tears that are threatening to fall.

“I'll see you at twelve,” I squeeze out before I turn on my heel and walk away.

This is going to be the hardest goodbye I am ever going to make.

Stepping onto the porch, I take a deep breath and push down the sadness that threatens to ruin my day.

I will not cry anymore.

I move forward before curling my hands around the wobbly fence post and look out at the land in front of me. It’s not much but it’s ours.

The snow tipped mountains in the distance look a lot prettier today and I’m not sure if it’s because I am only really noticing just how perfect everything is here.

Letting my head fall, I squeeze my eyes shut and my heart begins to race.

This is all I have known. It’s always only been me and pops.

My mom abandoned me on this very porch when I was a few months old.

She has never once returned. Not even made a phone call.

She chose her habit over me.

But yet, my pops never says anything bad about her. Still talks about her as if she is his whole world.

I know she’s not.

I’m his world.

But she was still his daughter.

I tried reaching out to her a few times via emails and letters but never heard anything back, and my dad? No idea where he was or who he was. My pops tells me it was some deadbeat she got with when she fell into her new lifestyle, but I block all of that out.

Pops was my family. Only him.

But now… well… it was only going to be me.