Page 10 of The Thought of You

I’ve focused on nothing other than the steps of my plan ever since. It’s not as detailed a plan as something Addie Lockhart—aka control freak extraordinaire—would be proud of, but it’s better than anything else I’ve come up with in my entire adult life.

It’s fucking drained me too, not that I can let any of it show to Whit or the rest of the family.

With Huck ready to be burped, Whit slips him into position over the cloth on her shoulder and pats his back. Afterward, it doesn’t take long for the little guy to pass out, his mouth slightly open.

We both stare at him in the crib, his tiny arms resting above his head as he peacefully sleeps, until my leg cramps, as if to announce, “It’s time to go.”

I haven’t been stretching and exercising it as much as I should, not since school started last month, and unfortunately, the ramifications of it have tortured me more and more lately.

At the door, I pull Whit in for a quick hug and squeeze her shoulder. “I’ll check in with you this weekend to see about that life you mentioned.”

“You know I wouldn’t change a thing, right? I was just… talking before.”

“I know. We both just need better balance,” I offer. “Also, you’re doing great.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and it’s thick with emotion. Seems like she needed to hear that more than I thought.

“Talk soon, okay?” I level her with my sincerest expression, my lips firm in a tight line. “As always, call if you need anything. I mean it.”

“You always do.”

In my truck, I check my phone and sigh. A missed call and a text from Gemma. Three calls and twice as many texts from Addie.

LOCKHART

Are you still coming to float?

You were supposed to be here an hour ago.

I had to fill in, and I don’t have the time. GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.

The rest of the messages describe the evil she’ll impose on me, and mixed in are a few colorful words that must never be repeated.

So, it’s pretty much a typical day at the office.

I rub the exhaustion from my eyes. Then I back out of the narrow driveway and inch away from my sister’s duplex, settling into my seat for the thirty-minute drive back to Sapphire Creek.

My phone glares at me from the passenger seat the entire drive, like Addie does during faculty meetings and school functions.

She’s never going to let me forget that I’m over an hour late to my float shift, especially not after the basketball fundraiser debacle. It’s bad enough I was so late to that, but this second strike might end me altogether.

Addie doesn’t offer three strikes.

She barely ever hands out a single one to those she likes, and I am not on that list. On the contrary, I’m on her shit list, alongside litterers, puppy kickers, and jerks who take longer than two minutes to order in a drive-thru.

I made up the last one, but knowing the tightly wound hard ass, I’d bet it’s true. Then again, there’s no chance she’s the type to enjoy greasy fast food.

I check the time again as I near the city limits. There’s a chance I’m able make it to the last twenty minutes of float, so I drive directly to the barn, zipping past the widespread golf course on the edge of town. The streetlights cast a glow over the large mossy oaks at its entrance, which are merely a blur as I slow my truck to the legal speed limit.

My foot itches to press on the gas and floor it, as I’m losing precious time, but this is not the moment to get pulled over. Addie would have a field day with that.

I trace the square downtown, driving around each corner with my thumb tapping on the steering wheel faster and faster. Half the shops and restaurants have shut their lights off and locked their doors. A few people mosey along the sidewalks and cobblestone alleys, bags in hand from what’s probably their dinner leftovers.

Reaching the barn on the opposite side of town feels like it takes twice the normal amount of time, and when I finally throw my truck into park next to Addie’s car, a sigh of relief escapes me with a whoosh.

She’s still here, which means there’s hope for me yet.

I hop out as Addie emerges through the creaky sliding door, holding one arm across her chest. The woman is usually peculiar, but the way she folds her second arm high across her breasts like she’s holding her shirt up is extra odd.

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