Page 33 of Worth the Wait

I didn’t know how to handle this. At fucking all.

Did I want Addi to come see me? Hell yes. Did I want her to see the home I’d built with my bare hands for the two of us? Yes, again. But something stopped me from asking her or even telling her what I’d done while she’d been away. I hated the way everything made me feel, unsure and insecure—when I’d never been either of those things when we were a couple.

After ending the call, I stared at the phone in my hand. Her voice still haunted me daily, but nothing compared to how it sounded in real time. I’d thought I had every inflection of her tone memorized, especially after watching videos of her on those nights when I really enjoyed torturing myself, but none of it was even remotely the same. Old videos and voice mails all paled in comparison to hearing the way her voice rose and fell in time with her emotions. She’d sounded older somehow, her tone maturer with age. I hated it.

Sucking in a calming breath, I took Jasper for a quick walk, gave him some water from my truck, and put him back inside of it. I figured that Jeremiah had to be close to getting released now.

When I stepped through the doors, the nurse stood up.

“He’s ready. Room 239, just through those double doors.” She pointed and handed me a visitor sticker.

I slapped it on my shirt and hustled toward his room. My nerves started taking over when I spotted the doorway up ahead. Before I could stop myself, I reached for the doorknob and turned it, stepping inside and seeing the man I’d been avoiding for far too long.

Jeremiah Whitman sat on the edge of his bed, his leg in a cast that went halfway up his calf, a scowl covering his usual grinning face. Being in a cast like that had to piss him off. The man was a force. Six foot tall and more muscles than any person his age should still have. His skin was dark, and his curly jet-black hair had far more gray in it than I remembered seeing the last time.

When his eyes met mine, his entire expression softened. “Patrick.”

“Hi, Jeremiah. Dumbass,” I said with a grin, trying to break the ice that really didn’t exist, if I was being honest.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, son?” he snapped, but it was harmless.

“Some old man who apparently broke his foot from being stubborn and can’t chase me for saying it.”

He waved me off like I was making a big deal out of nothing. “I can still chase you. And my foot slipped on the rung of the ladder. Could have happened to anyone.”

He wasn’t technically wrong, but he was too damn old to be climbing up some shitty ladder by himself. We both knew it, but I’d have to say it out loud so that his stubborn ass would actually listen for once. The man never asked for help. Always claimed he didn’t need it. I knew the feeling well actually.

“Next time, you call me. I’ll take the decorations down for you. You don’t need to be climbing up and down ladders in the damn winter anymore.”

“What are you trying to say, Patrick? That I’m too old to do things for myself? Do you let your dad climb ladders?”

“I don’tletmy dad do anything.”

He grumped. “Figures. Who told you anyway? Am I in the gossip mill already? Stupid small town.”

“Your daughter called me.” I stopped him from going on a rant about the way Sugar Mountain got up in everyone’s business and spread it around before you even realized it. It had happened before when Addison’s mom left him, and Jeremiah decided that he was not a fan of being talked about behind his back.

“How’d she find out?” He shook his head, irritated.

“She’s your emergency contact.”

“Damn,” he said. “Don’t tell me. Don’t say it, Patrick,” he warned.

“She’s coming out,” we both said at the same exact time before we started laughing uncomfortably.

“I’ve missed you, son,” he said with a smile that pulled at his cheeks. A smile I had memorized.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Now, get over here and help me up. I’m not supposed to put any weight on it, and I don’t feel like hopping around like a flamingo.” He looked down at his broken foot and started yelling at it like it was the problem. Like his foot had betrayed him somehow by breaking.

“You’re going to love this.” I laughed once more, and he faked a snarl as I handed the crutches toward him.

“I might be old, but I’m still stronger than you, and I can still kick your ass. Don’t forget that,” he said as he flexed his left arm and a massive muscle appeared.

“You’d have to catch me first,” I teased, taking the crutches back and pulling them out of his reach.

“Or I can just knock you upside the head with one of these.” He grabbed one of the crutches and pretended like it was a bat before placing it underneath his arm. “It’s been too long.”

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