Page 35 of The Rancher's Second-Choice Wife

Chapter Fifteen

VALERIAN’S LAST MEMORY of his mother was Verniece running her fingers through the stubborn curls of his hair as he fell asleep on her lap.

When he woke up, it was to see his mom pale, stiff, and completely unresponsive, foam bubbling from her mouth.

He had only been seven at that time, and despite everyone's best efforts, Valerian had learned that his mother had a problem.

She couldn't handle being alone with her thoughts, and so she killed herself

Just that.

Growing up, he had been unable to wrap his head around it. How could his mother kill herself for something so stupid?

But then he kept hearing people remark how he looked so much like Verniece.

You’re so much like your mother, boy.

Valerian couldn’t remember exactly when or how it started. It was just there one day, suddenly. An incessant buzzing that only his mind could hear instead of his ears, and it was when he started to wonder if he, too, might have the same problem.

Am I going to fucking off myself the moment I’m alone with my thoughts?

****

POPPY WAS STILL WIDE-awake at eleven in the evening. She had also been pacing back and forth for the past hour, her mind made restless by all the things she couldn’t make sense of.

Valerian had tried so hard to convince Poppy to have herself checked and even spend the night at a nearby hospital. But the idea seemed so silly considering the accident earlier hadn’t left a single scratch on her body.

A knock on the door had Poppy quickly jumping back into bed, and she tried not to look guilty as Valerian entered her room.

His steps slowed to a halt midway, and his gaze narrowed at her. “You got out of bed, didn’t you?”

Since lying had never come naturally to her, all Poppy could do was smile weakly. “Oops?”

Frustration flashed over his features, and Poppy’s guilt increased. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried I might have a concussion, but I’m honestly fine.”

“Since someone here refused to have herself checked, we don’t know that for sure, do we?” Valerian’s form remained noticeably rigid with tension as he folded his length into the high-backed leather chair next to her bed. “I’m sorry I had to leave for a meeting.”

“I don’t mind,” she assured him quickly.

“Have you had any headaches or nausea since I left?”

“Nope.”

“You’re sure?”

Poppy didn’t know whether to feel cherished or amused with how Valerian was acting. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

A strained silence emerged between them, and her heart ached when Valerian suddenly asked if he could explain what happened.

“Only if you want to...”

Valerian exhaled deeply, and Poppy had to curl her fingers into fists. She so badly wanted to reach out to him, but she didn’t dare risk it this time. She no longer knew what was or wasn’t safe to do.

“You might’ve noticed how I like to do things that involve a certain amount of...risk.”

That was putting it mildly, Poppy thought. Those ‘things’ Valerian spoke of weren’t just risky. They were downright dangerous, like jumping off a plane in a parachute or diving from some unimaginably tall cliff. These ‘things’ were what normal people did once in a lifetime. But for Valerian, these ‘things’ were all part of his Mundane Monday routine.

“I don’t do these things because I enjoy them.”

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