Page 204 of Holding On To Good

Her stomach clenched. Her fingers curled as if trying to hold on to her anger. Her resolve.

That was what she needed to focus on. It wasn’t like any of those other pesky feelings were going to help. What was she going to do with grief? Guilt? Sadness? They were useless to her right now and sure weren’t going to help her get through the rest of the night.

She’d always known she and Urban as lovers would end. Being heartbroken wasn’t going to change any of it.

They didn’t have a future. She understood that. He did, too.

He’d never, not once in all the years since that night on her porch when they were teenagers, said one word indicating he thought differently. That he felt differently.

Never so much as hinted that he wanted her.

And now she was supposed to believe he did? That he loved her and always had?

She didn’t.

Couldn’t.

If she did, she’d have to forget the past sixteen years. Would have to forgive his choices.

And her own.

If she let herself believe him now, it wouldn’t just mean that she’d made a mistake all those years ago on her porch when she’d refused to take a chance on him. On them.

It meant she’d made a bigger one tonight.

Urban had no idea how long he stood there, staring at the empty hallway after Willow walked out, his dog whining at his feet.

It felt like hours. Days.

A lifetime.

His heart pounded, his breathing quick and harsh, like he’d just run a mile. His stomach churned like he was about to be sick. Every word he’d said to her echoed in his head harsh and accusing, like a rebuke against himself.

Like he’d fucked up somehow.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t have.

But the longer he stood there, the stronger the feeling grew, thick and oppressive, until it filled his chest. Seeped into his veins.

It wasn’t right, that feeling. It wasn’t true.

But it felt real.

So, he did what he thought any rational, grief-stricken, pissed-off man would do after the woman he’d always wanted responded to his declaration of love with a succinct and furious bullshit. When the emotions inside of him were too big, too painful to handle.

He went downstairs, grabbed the half-full bottle of Uncle Nearest from the liquor cabinet, then stormed onto the patio. Slumped in a chair, sullen and morose and angry and took a long swallow straight from the bottle. Then another. And another.

Only to have that feeling return, the one that had pushed him to pick up the whiskey bottle in the first place. The sense that he’d made a mistake letting her leave.

That he’d been wrong to withdraw his friendship, to break up their partnership.

He dug into his front pocket and pulled out his phone, fumbled with it a moment before bringing up Miles’s number.

And realized what he was doing. Calling his brother so Miles could drive him to Willow’s house.

So Urban could fix this.

So he could get her back.

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