Page 79 of A Fighting Chance

I recede back into the barn after she walks into the house. Making my way back to the cabin, I seriously consider stopping and picking honeysuckles to shove into my pillowcase. I kick at the ground over and over again, cursing myself for getting us into this mess. Because that’s exactly what it is—a big fat fucking mess. My heart is messed up, more than it was before her. But I don’t blame her. It isn’t her fault. She didn’t do anything wrong. She was just a woman who came down looking for nothing and found a sappy guy and didn’t know it.

It’s my fault. Everything about this is my fault. I’m the one who pushed her to have fun. I’m the one who wouldn’t leave it alone.

I pursued. End of story.

I’m a dumb shit. What’s worse is, I’m a dumb shit who hurt her. And she deserves better.

Inside the cabin, I kick my boots off and look around. It’s a nice place. For a moment, I wonder if Harper will eventually move back in or if it holds too many memories. If she’s not going to, maybe I can. I need more than a room. I need a whole place again. I think it’s time. I consider speaking to her about the cabin after Lyla leaves. Harper could even have my room since it’s bigger than the one she’s in now.

I walk over to the kitchen, where I pour two fingers of bourbon into a glass. Downing it in two gulps, I sit the glass back down and sit on the couch. The cabin is quiet. I’ve been used to the noise of the main farm house. I think if I do move here, I’ll need a dog or something.

Yes, a dog.

That’s what people do, right? Get pets to help with their loneliness?

Yes, that’s a plan. I open my phone and start scrolling pet ads. The bourbon warms my chest faster than I realize and suddenly, I want more.

Scrolling through more ads, I pour another glass. A few gulps in and I see a German Shepherd puppy on the screen. He’s a little blurry—maybe as a result of the bourbon. He’s close by, full-blooded and farm-raised. I click the contact button, type in a message of interest, and hit send before I can change my mind. Once I gulp down the last of my bourbon, I put the glass back down and walk over to the couch. I keep scrolling for more puppies and then I hear what I think is a knock at the door, but I can’t be sure. So, I wait.

Another knock comes, and I call for the visitor to come in as I’m looking over my shoulder at the door.

Lyla walks in and I’m dumbstruck.

Fuck.

I’m too buzzed for this. I don’t move. She’s staring at me and I’m staring back and I don’t know what to do. She’s a little blurry, too, but I know it’s her.

“Can we talk?” she asks.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I admit.

“Well, will you listen?”

“If you want me to,” I say.

She takes a long, deep breath as she walks toward me. While she makes her way around the couch, she tucks the loose strands of her hair behind her ear and exhales. “Listen, I didn’t want things—”

I hold my hand up. “Look, if you’re here to make some kind of apology or say you didn’t want things to go down this way, just don’t. You don’t owe me any apologies and I don’t think either of us wanted it this way.”

“But I do owe you an apology,” she says.

“It’s my fault, Lyla. I’m not an idiot. Well, I am, but not about knowing whose fault this is.”

She’s looking at my face—studying it—so I clarify and tell her, “I knew what was happening and I tried to fight against it, despite everything telling me not to.”

“I’m still sorry,” she whispers.

“Jesus, forwhat? I put you in an impossible situation, you deliver the only answer you were ever going to give, and you’re sorry?” My words are starting to slur.

“Have you been drinking?” she asks.

“I may have had some drinks,” I say, shrugging. “I’m a grown man.”

“Maybe you should get some sleep,” she suggests.

“You were never going to stay,” I say, pausing before I go on. “You were never going to stay, and I asked anyway—like an idiot. I did the one thing you didn’t need me to do and for that, I’m the one who’s sorry—the only one whoshouldbe sorry.”

There’s a long silence stretching between us, and I feel myself wanting to reach for her. The warmth in my chest slowly grows to courage in my hands and I ball them into fists at my sides a little too hard as a reminder not to do it. If I touch her now, nothing will put out the fire in me.