Page 51 of Kind of a Bad Idea

“It’s your fault,” I mutter to my dick as I relieve myself against a tree. “You’re a weak-willed piece of shit.”

It has the decency to look ashamed of itself as I tuck it back in my pants, but shame isn’t going to do either one of us any good.

That’s what I always tell Sprout—don’t let shame take root inside you. It’s okay to feel bad about something you did; it’s not okay to feel like you’re the bad thing. That kind of thinking only dulls your light, hurts your heart, and makes it harder to be the good person you want to be.

It’s hard to love other people right if you don’t love yourself.

I know that to be true with every piece of me. I also know that it’s way easier said than done, especially when you’re a middle-aged man who’s made so many mistakes. I thought I’d have more things figured out by now, but all I really know is that I’ll never understand other people. I’ll be lucky if, some day, I reach a place where I truly know myself.

Trying not to think about the memories I wish Binx could have made with us here this winter, I get back on the four-wheeler and head toward the cabin. I’ve been gone nearly two hours by the time I pull into the shed, long enough for the sun to set and soft pink light to fill the air.

There’s a chill in the air, too, the cold cutting through my shirt as I head toward the porch, intending to snag the plate of sausages I left outside and force myself to eat something.

But when I reach the grill, the plates and the veggie tray are gone. For a second, I wonder if Tater Tot somehow found his way up onto the grill and made off with all the food, but there’s no sign of a smashed plate on the ground. And Tater Tot is surprisingly agile, but he’s also bulked up for winter. I don’t know if he’d be capable of climbing the grill at this point, which is a good thing. Eating a bunch of processed meat would have made him sick if he’d tried it.

As soon as I dismiss that theory, I realize what must have happened.

Binx cleaned up before she left.

Instantly, I feel even worse than I did before. I broke her heart and in return, she cleaned up my mess. Or maybe she took the sausages with her as some small form of retribution.

I hope so. I hope she took all the food in the house and left me to forage for acorns with the groundhogs. It’s what I deserve…better than I deserve.

With a sigh, I double-check again to make sure the propane is turned off on the grill, then plod inside, trying to think of what to listen to on the speaker that might take my mind off my abject misery. Maybe that podcast about people getting murdered in national parks. Those people had it much worse than I’m having it right now.

Maybe I’ll manage to unsettle myself enough that going to sleep in the middle of the woods alone with no way out will start to feel scary. Better to lie awake in bed, fearful of being axe-murdered, than lie awake thinking about Binx.

“Binx.” Her name bursts from my lips without my permission when I close the door and turn to see her sitting on the couch in the living room, surrounded by pieces of paper from the notepad I use to make lists for the hardware store. She’s bent over the pad now, writing furiously, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips as she concentrates.

“Yep. It’s me. I’m still here.” She doesn’t so much as glance up from her scribbling as she adds, “You didn’t actually think I would leave, did you?”

The dinosaur jaws locked around my chest loosen, and I draw my first deep breath since I saw her mother standing in front of the cabin.

No, I realize, I didn’t actually think she would leave. Maybe that’s part of the reason I felt like such absolute shit when I thought she had.

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing there’s so much more that needs to be said, but I’m just so grateful to see her sitting there, looking absolutely unconcerned with the future, that I can’t think straight.

“You should be,” she says, still writing. “That was mortifying. It’s hard enough to have your profession of love dismissed without having your family there to watch it happen. Especially my mom. She practically had kittens when I told her I was staying to talk to you, and that if she wanted me to leave, she would have to physically overpower me and tie me up in the back of her SUV.” She dots a period onto the paper and finally looks up, her eyes pink from crying, but now dry and clear. “I think she thought about it for a second or two, but then she remembered I’m not four years old anymore. She can’t just pick me up and carry me away from things I love, kicking and screaming.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say. “I never did.”

“But you did,” she says calmly, the complete lack of blame in her tone somehow making me feel even worse. “You really, really hurt me, and I think I know why. It’s not because you’re dead set against getting involved with someone so much younger than you are.”

I arch a brow, but don’t speak. Words are still elusive. I’m too lost in the emotions slamming against my chest like ocean waves on a stormy day. Fear, grief, gratitude, guilt, misery—they slam into me over and over again, while high above the shoreline, a single seagull cries out not to lose hope.

But that’s the problem. I don’t have enough hope to make it through all the challenges Binx and I would face as a couple. The world has beaten the hope out of me.

I’m about to tell her as much when she says, “You don’t think you’re good enough for me,” and my next breath gets stuck in my lungs.

I hold it for a long beat, then exhale in a rush, back to not knowing what to say.

She’s right, but she’s also wrong. I’m not good enough, but not because I’m a bad man. I just…

“I’m just so fucking tired, baby,” I say my voice rough.

She frowns. “No, you’re not. You’re the strongest man I know. You run at least five miles a day and could bench press a Volkswagen.”

“I don’t mean that kind of tired.” I move into the kitchen, bracing my hands on the island, facing her across it. “I don’t believe in happy endings anymore. The world isn’t happy and neither are most of the people in it. That doesn’t mean they’re bad or that I’m bad, it just…is what it is. I’ve come to accept that and be mostly okay with it. But learning to be okay with it…” I trail off, my shoulders inching closer to my ears as I drop my gaze to the counter. “I don’t know. I think it killed the part of me that believed I could make love work for the long haul.”

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