Page 9 of Choose You

“Richard.” I glare at him. “Will you shut it? You're not helping here.”

“What’s he talking about?” Jessica’s voice sounds so small and wounded. A fresh stream of tears run down her face.

“Baby, please. Let me—”

“Don’t call me baby,” she yells through her tears.Fuck. I didn’t even realize I’d said it. She’d beenmybaby for so long, the pet name rolled off my tongue like it’s still true.

She steps forward and shoves me back against the wall. Her hands are balled into fists, and she pounds against my chest. I let her. I deserve anything and everything she throws at me. It’s not like she can hurt me anymore than I’ve already hurt myself.

“You lost the right to call me that a long time ago. In fact,” she pokes me in the chest with her finger, “don’t talk to me at all. I didn’t come home to see you.” Her voice cracks, and her tears turn to sobs. It’s killing me not to hold her and wipe those tears away. “Stay away from me.”

She turns on her heel and rushes out of the room before I can respond. I know I should let her go, give her the space she’s asking for, but like the dumbass I am, I follow her.

By the time I make it out of the office, she’s halfway across the tasting room and heading out the front door. I pick up my pace and jog after her.

I catch up to her just as she opens her car door. “Jess, can we talk about this?”

“No, we can’t.” She hops into her car and slams the door shut before I can say another word.

I lightly knock on the glass, but she doesn’t look at me. “Please, Jessica. I’m begging you.”

She throws the car in reverse and peels out of the parking lot. She’s halfway down the road and out of sight before I can even catch my breath.

I hit my hat against my thigh and run my fingers through my hair before I put it back on. I didn’t expect this first meeting to go great,but I at least thought she’d talk about it. Then again, I didn’t get anything less from her than I deserved. I probably deserved worse.

I head to my truck with my head hung low. If she refuses to sell the house, I’m screwed. I’ve built my life around that house. I run my veterinary clinic out of the barn, but my business is the least of my worries. If I’m forced to move, my business will recover. That’s not what I’m worried about. It’s my baby girl’s home, too. It’ll break her heart if we have to move.

Just before I reach my truck, it dawns on me the direction Jessica drove.

“Fuck.” I run the last few steps to my truck and start it up before I even shut my door.

She’s headed to the house.

CHAPTER 3

JESSICA

The desperation in Matthew’s eyes guts me.

I have enough to manage with my own emotional turmoil. I don’t need his on top of mine. The pain he caused has dictated my life for far too long, and I need to shore my strength against it if I have any hope of surviving Uncle Jimmy’s funeral. Dealing with him is not a part of my survival plan.

Why exactly is he so upset in the first place? This ismychildhood home. Not his.

I’d think our shared memories would be enough to keep him away. It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t plan on getting close enough to him again to find out. I’m much too weak around that man. Being near him is asking for trouble.

Case in point, he held my fucking hand, and I liked it. I was so shocked by the bomb Richard dropped on me. I didn’t even realize Matthew had moved to my side to comfort me. But I welcomed it all the same. His hand felt good in mine, and for a moment, it calmed me. When I finally pulled myself out of my dazed state-of-mind, my hand tingled and a rush of heat ran through me. I hate my body for reacting like that.

I pull up in front of my parents’ house—myhouse now—and drop my head to the steering wheel. I take a few steady breaths as the slow drip from my eyes begins to stop.

Seeing Matthew at some point during this trip was inevitable. Butseeing him today completely threw me off. I’m not prepared to deal with him and all the feelings—love, hate, need, utter confusion—I still have for that man. I’m not sure I’ll ever be prepared to deal with that.

I sigh and bang my head against the steering wheel a few times, trying to knock the image of him out of my mind. Why did he have to look so damn good? He was always handsome with his deep green eyes—the color of forest leaves—his dark hair, tall stature, and muscular frame. But he’s filled out even more. Broader. Bigger. Harder. He’s more man than boy now.

I’d secretly hoped he let himself go and would be scrawny and balding, but that’s so not the case.

Instead, time has been kind to him.

I let out a deep breath and wipe my face. I hate that this made me cry in front of him, but seeing him in my emotional state was too much. Lord knows, I’ve cried enough over that man to last a few lifetimes. My well of tears should be all dried up by now, yet they still keep coming anytime he’s involved.

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