Page 79 of Love In Translation

“Did you hurt yourself?” Jason asked, anxious.

Yes, but not in the way Jason meant. He’d also hurt Rheo, and it would take a long time for him to forgive himself for doing it. If ever. Nobody was allowed to hurt her, including him.

“My head isn’t in the right place, so I don’t think I should be trying to scale one of the hardest rock faces in the area. I’m putting myself in danger.”

Jason didn’t reply, but eventually, his radio crackled again. “Fair enough.”

He told Fletch to prepare to rappel, and Jason radioed the team who waited at another point in the valley, asking Seb to check Fletch’s shoulder. He understood Jason’s worry—he never bailed on a challenge. He pushed the envelope and was the person who wanted to go faster, higher, do more, and take bigger risks. His team kept his feet on the ground, not the other way around.

Things were changing.

Hewas changing.

Even so, he had to consider whether he’d ruined his chances with Rheo by handing her a lot of crap and taking out his fear on her by not treating her well. She would be within her rights to tell him to find Fuck Mountain, climb it, and throw himself off when he reached the summit. As he well knew, choices had consequences, and his decision to run instead of planting his feet and sticking around, might come back to annihilate him.

What would he do then?

One step at a time, Wright. Read the map, plan your route. Take it from there.

When Rheo left Gilmartin for Brooklyn she understood, and accepted, that she would have to make modifications to her very stable, very predictable life. It was safe having a well-oiled life, but it was also damn boring. And keeping busy was one way to get out of her head and stop her thoughts about Fletch—was he okay? Where was he? Had he found another woman to sleep with?

She video-called Abi every day, and she’d joined her colleagues’ poker night and enjoyed an evening filled with laughter and losing pretend money. She’d played exceptionally badly and drank too much wine. Because she was a horrendous cook, she’d signed up for cooking classes. And a night class to learn Mandarin was an option. She needed to meet more people, fill her hours after work, so she could stop obsessing over her explorer...

Nothing so far had worked, but she’d keep trying. Hopefully, sometime soon, she’d stop crying herself to sleep.

À coeur vaillant rien d’impossible.With enough courage, she could do anything. She was holding on to the thought with everything she had.

Tonight was the first of her cooking classes. The school was a few blocks away, and Rheo would walk aroundProspect Park to get there. She was never going to be a gym bunny, but walking, just getting her blood pumping, made her feel a little closer to Fletch. She would never do a twenty-five-mile hike, or even a three-mile run again, but she didn’t need to be a slug.

Rheo tied her shoelaces, put her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, and tucked a twenty-dollar bill into her front pocket, along with the key to her apartment. She jogged down the steps to the lobby and walked out into the late-summer air. Autumn was on its way; the air had turned crisp. Rheo wondered if the leaves were turning in Gilmartin. It was a bit early, but it would happen soon. She missed that little town—something she never thought she’d do.

Rheo hit the sidewalk and waved to Mrs. Bukowski standing at the window of her ground-floor apartment, leaning on her walking sticks. Maybe if it wasn’t too late when she got home, she would pop in to see her...

Ooof!Rheo bounced off a hard chest and stumbled backward. A strong hand gripped her arm, and she instantly recognized Fletch’s touch. Her eyes slammed into his, and she placed a hand on her heart, scared it would jump out of her chest.

Fletch washere. In her city. A place he hated.

“Hello.”

His voice sounded deeper, his burr more pronounced. The shock of his arrival closed her throat, and Rheo couldn’t get any words out of her mouth. She placed her hand on his chest, needing an anchor.

Fletch was the best there was.

He was here. What thehell?

Fletch bent his knees so his eyes—his fabulous eyes she’d missed so much and loved even more—were level with hers.

“Breathe, Rhee.”

How could she breathe when he’d flipped her world upside down and inside out? How could he expect that? Rheo grabbed his shirt and twisted her fist to keep him in place. She didn’t want him to disappear again.

“Fletch?” she murmured. Then, because she couldn’t help it and was so damn tired of missing him, she burst into tears.

Fletch, because he was Fletch, simply pulled her in, gathered her close, and let her cry.

Rheo registered his lips in her hair, his arms around her, and despite everything that had happened, she knew she was where she belonged. Secure, loved. Cherished.

After a few minutes, Fletch stepped back and, using both his thumbs, wiped away her tears. He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth and pulled back to look at her, his eyes soft. “Okay?”

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