Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Refusing to read it, I cover my eyes with my arm and wish the whole situation away. I hate the person I’ve become. I feel like I’m always saying the wrong things. I question everything I do, say, and think, and even though the therapist says it’s normal, none of this is normal to me.
I’ve always been assertive and confident, and I thought I was getting back to being that guy, but the first woman that I have any feelings for, I fall apart at the seams.
The phone dings again and then again.
Unable to resist, I stretch to reach for it and read the incoming messages.
The first text says. “You were watching me work?”
I groan again, knowing how awful that sounds.
The next text says, “I thought you were offended by me. Or upset or something. I didn’t know you were watching me… I thought you were scowling at me like I was bothering you somehow.”
I tilt my head to look at the phone. Bothering me? How the hell could she have been bothering me? Before I can ask, she sends another text. “Can we please talk?”
I drop the phone because there's no way I’m going to talk to her. I can’t. I’ll stutter through the whole thing and embarrass myself more than I already have.
She texts a question mark, but no matter how much I’d love to hear her voice, I can't do it. Instead of trying to explain to her, I just ignore her request and her follow-up with the question mark.
I rub my hand along the scruff of my chin and not for the first time wish that things—that I—could be different.
When my phone dings again, I look at it hesitantly and see that there is an attached voice message that Poppy sent me.
I take a deep breath and listen to her soft Southern voice come through the phone.
She speaks slow. “Hi, Colter. I hoped we could talk, but I understand if you don’t want to. After everything I said to you today, I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me.” She takes a breath. “Anyway, I really am sorry. I uh, had a bad morning, and unfortunately, I took it out on you. What I did was wrong, and I feel really bad about it. If you want to talk—so I can apologize in person—please call me. Or if you want to stop by the next time I have the truck at the center, I’d be happy to buy you a piece of pie or a cupcake or whatever you would like to eat.” She pauses and then blows out a soft breath. “Anyway, I am sorry. I hope you call or I get to see you again, but if I don’t, I don’t blame you. Sorry… again. I’ll talk to you or not, whatever you decide. Bye.”
As soon as the recording stops, I play it again and listen to her talk.
Everything inside me wants to talk to her. I wish I could call and have a normal conversation, but I don’t trust myself to do it. And there’s no way I’m going to go and talk to her in person, not after today’s epic fail.
I start typing. “I’m sorry you had a bad morning, but I promise you don’t owe me an apology or a piece of pie. All is forgiven. I hope your day is better tomorrow.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit send, turn the volume off on my phone, and then leave it on the bed as I walk through the house and to my office. I sit down behind the four computer screens and decide to focus on my work. Each of them are set to a black background, meant to help fend off migraines. I turn the brightness up a little bit. At least with my job, I know what I’m doing. It’s easy for me, and it’s the one thing I have left that I’m confident with.
It helps that what I do is important. I may not be able to go on missions anymore or work in the field, and I am behind a computer, but what I do still saves lives.
I try to focus on the work at hand, but only a few minutes pass by and I’m logging into my phone messages from my computer. I listen to Poppy’s voice message again and again.
Each time I get to the end of the message, I hit play again. Over and over, I listen to her sweet voice until I lean my head back, close my eyes, and picture her in my mind.
When her voice stops and is replaced by my phone ringing through the speakers of my computer, I open my eyes and look at the pop-up on my screen. Walker.
I sit up in my chair and open all my screens as I answer the call. “Walker.”