Page 112 of Downpour

When I had put on my shorts and shirt, he took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles. “Let’s go.”

I made sure everything was where it was supposed to be and followed him outside. An old golf cart was parked just outside the door.

I stopped in my tracks. I knew he had somehow gotten down here, but I hadn’t thought about the logistics. “You drove?”

“CJ got some parts at the hardware store to convert it to hand controls,” he said as he maneuvered out of his chair and into the driver’s seat. “He brought it over for a test drive after the horse delivery while you were out with the girls.”

I helped fold the chair and placed it in the back before hopping in with him.

Ray started the engine and pushed a lever for the gas pedal, then turned the steering wheel to head back to his house.

“You know,” I said as I rested my head on his shoulder and felt the night air swirling around us. “I think I like you driving me around.”

Ray chuckled and leaned over to give my head a quick kiss. “That makes two of us.”

27

RAY

Brooke snored.

I had to admit—it was cute. She was curled up on the couch like a cat with her head in my lap. The movie we had been watching was muted. I had turned the volume down as soon as her eyelids closed.

It had been a long day for both of us. We spent most of the morning and afternoon in town, bouncing between appointments.

Brooke went with me to my PT appointment. We stayed in town for lunch, then separated while I went to my first mental therapy appointment.

I hated it.

But I didn’t want to crush Brooke’s spirits. She seemed so hopeful that I was going. That it would fix me.

I was going to give it a shot, but I didn’t have her optimism.

While I sat in an office that was far too air-conditioned for my liking, Brooke picked up groceries, prescriptions, and parked at a coffee shop to use their WiFi. She had been looking into class options at the community college.

I knew she was bored as hell with me. I felt bad that she was wasting her time hanging around my house, waiting for me to need something.

Sometimes I asked her to help me just because I knew she was bored.

Her snores snapped me back to the present. I combed my fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. Her features were soft and angelic. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks from being out in the sun.

After we made it back to the ranch, we crashed on the couch with leftovers pilfered from the fridge and hadn’t moved since.

Brooke stirred and nuzzled into my thigh. “Is the movie over?” she mumbled.

“It can be,” I said as I rubbed her back. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

She nodded but didn’t get up.

I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and carry her to bed. I wanted to lay her down and strip her bare. I wanted to pull her into me and hold her all night.

But I couldn’t do that.

The psychiatrist had left me more raw and sore than my physical therapy appointment. Maybe it was the whole “break you down before you’re built back up” thing, but I hated every second of it.

Christian texted me to ask how it went and promised it would get better, but I wasn’t so sure.

It took eight seconds for me to win a championship, and one second to lose everything else.

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