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“I’m hearing you make a whole bunch of excuses to deny yourself something you want just because you’re afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid,” she confirms.
“And what am I afraid of?”
Marcy shrugs. “Getting hurt maybe? I can’t tell you what you’re afraid of, but from where I’m standing, there is no valid reason you shouldn’t go after that man if that’s what you want. That makes me think you’re scared.”
I laugh. “Well, aren’t you quite the psychotherapist?”
“Not really. I’ve just been around long enough to know a few things about a few things. That’s all,” she says. “So, I guess the only real question you need to answer is—what are you afraid of, Harlow? And is this man somebody you want to spend time with?”
I take in her words and let them rattle around in my head for a few beats. What she’s saying makes perfect sense. But what am I afraid of? It’s not being hurt. Getting hurt is just a byproduct of living and loving, and that’s something I learned to accept a while ago. I’m not afraid of Hunter. He’s the polar opposite of his son in every meaningful way. He’s kind and encouraging. Though a little gruff and rough around the edges, he’s also tender and gentle.
“Is he?” Marcy presses. “Is he somebody you want to spend time with?”
I nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“I think… I think I’m afraid of just how much I want to be with him. I don’t think… no, I know I’ve never wanted somebody as much as I want Hunter. I guess… I guess I always have, but it was never a possibility, so I never really thought about it. Know what I mean?”
“Kind of seems like it’s a possibility now.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“Remember what I said about not living with the what-ifs?”
I nod. “Yeah. I remember.”
“This seems like a prime chance for you to take one of those off your list of regrets.”
A small smile creeps across my face, and I shudder again as I think of having that silky smooth tongue lashing at my center. What will I feel like years from now, waking up alone in my bed wondering what might have been if I only had the courage to take the chance. Or even worse, waking up next to somebody and lamenting that they’re not Hunter. What ifs and regret can haunt you. They can rot your soul from the inside out.
I’ve never let fear stop me from doing something before. Why should I let it stop me now? I’m not trying to live a life filled with regrets and looking back wondering what could have been. I look up at Marcy and smile, my decision made. She seems to see it in my face because she gives me a wide, wolfish smile in return.
“There’s my girl,” she says.
“You speak about the Love Shack like you have some experience.”
She cackles. “Girl, I was your age once, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.”
Laughing together, we walk out of the nurse’s station and head down to the ER to get to work. I’m more focused than before, but my mind is still drifting elsewhere as I think about what I’m going to say to Hunter. More than that, what I’m going to do to him.
9
HUNTER
I take a swallow of my beer and lean back on the couch, watching the hockey game on TV. I checked in with the department doctors today, and they still wouldn’t clear me, saying I needed another week or so for my ribs to heal.
It’s absolute bullshit. I just want to get back to fucking work. What’s made this period of inactivity even worse is that I can’t stop thinking about Harlow. I can’t get what happened between us out of my mind and feel a hard tug of longing. Of wanting. Of desire.
We haven’t been in contact since that day, and I’m thinking we won’t be. Something is holding her back, and I’m not going to force the issue if she’s not ready or, for whatever reason, can’t let herself make that turn with me. Trying to distract myself, I scroll through my phone, trying to decide between pizza and Thai food when there’s a knock at the door. I’m not expecting anybody, so I’m a little annoyed, but I get to my feet. I open the door and pause.
“Harlow,” I say.
“Hey,” she replies.
