Page 137 of Catching Sparks

Dad shakes his head only once. “Stop it. Your mother would never, ever be upset with you over something like this. Her feelings come from her wanting you to have everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s the universe she’s upset with for dealing you such an unfair card.”

“What if I made the wrong choice?” I ask him, finally voicing the question that’s been plaguing me since that final night on the ranch with Poppy, her tears burning my thumbs.

She flayed herself open for me, and I still didn’t give in to my instincts that screamed and cried and begged me to say yes to every single option she gave me.

I hoped I could do this. That I could eventually convince myself that my time with her would stay with me forever in memory but be nothing more. I was a fucking fool.

“Why do you think it was the wrong choice? Because you miss her or because the thought of being without her will eventually drain the life from you? Do you think it will get better, or are you positive you won’t be able to heal?” he asks softly.

“How do I know if it will get better?”

“You just do. But if you’re asking me that, then I think you must have an idea already.”

Yeah, I do. And I have no fucking idea what it means.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I speak quiet enough the question is hardly audible.

“When’s the last time you visited the Calgary office?” Dad asks after a slight pause.

“What does that have to do with this? Is there something going on with Brody?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Brody’s great. Better than, as I’m sure you’ll see later.” He’s quick to shut down my worry. “I think you should really speak to Nathan. He has more information on the other offices than I do, but I’ve heard that it’s going incredibly well over there. Once you speak to him, maybe you’ll have a bit more clarity.”

“I still don’t get what this has to do with me and Poppy. The Calgary office doesn’t matter to me, Dad. Can we just go inside now?”

I need to clear my head. It feels too claustrophobic in here. Forcing myself back into the swing of my normal life might help distract me enough to forget about the ache behind my ribs. I’ve spent three days missing her. If it’s possible to think of something other than her, I’ll find that reprieve in my office.

Dad tips his chin and gives my arm a final squeeze before turning the car off. “Yeah, son. Let’s go.”

My computer screen shines in my eyes as I scroll through my messages. The office is dark, all of the deep-coloured wood and black furniture blending into the shadows. It’s late, and everyone is gone. They’ve been gone for hours now.

An empty glass sits beside my computer and a bottle of whiskey that was unopened this morning but now can’t have more than half left.

My eyes burn from the light of my screen, but I don’t care. Tearing my eyes away from my last conversation with Poppy is the last thing I want to do.

Poppy: Text me when you land so I know you’re safe.

Poppy: If you hadn’t snuck out of the house before I woke this morning, we could have had a conversation about whether or not texting is allowed.

Poppy: I’m sorry. I don’t care if it’s allowed right now. I need to know your fancy jet hasn’t crashed and left you smeared down some gravel road somewhere.

I hadn’t bothered to connect my phone to Wi-Fi on the plane ride. All it would have done was convince me to text her the entire flight, and I needed a clean break. Boundaries.

My reply was sent once I slipped into my father’s car at the airport.

Me: I’ve landed.

Two words. That’s all I sent.

Two months we spent together, and I left before she woke and sent a message that gave her absolutely fucking nothing.

I pour myself another drink before gulping it down, grateful for the way it numbs me further with every sip.

She never texted me back. Why would she have?

The stack of files on my desk needs to be read. My inbox is overflowing with emails both directly sent to me and forwarded from my assistant. Nathan stopped by a dozen times after the welcome-back meeting this morning. I kept my door locked. Even denied my dad’s offer for a ride home.

His emails are the first ones I open once I tear myself from the short span of text messages. Hearing my dad’s voice in the back of my mind, I click on the one titled Swift Edge – Calgary Updates first.

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