Page 20 of Burly and Rugged

“You tell me,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Because you’ve been sitting here staring at nothing for the last twenty minutes.”

I exhale slowly, flexing my fingers against the ceramic mug. He’s right—I haven’t heard a damn thing since this meeting started.

Jax leans forward on the table, tapping his pen against his notepad. “I was asking if you wanted to handle the next advanced survival course, but unless you plan on teaching it in your sleep, maybe we should ask someone who’s actually paying attention.”

Laughter ripples through the group, but I barely hear it. How the hell am I supposed to focus on anything else when all I can think about is Lindy?

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I watched her car disappear down the dirt road, taking something with her that I didn’t know I had to give. Two weeks of trying to shove her out of my mind, to focus on work, on routine, on anything but the way she looked at me before she left—like she was waiting for me to give her a reason to stay.

And I didn’t. Like a fucking fool, I let her go.

Jax clears his throat, pulling me back to the present. “You good, man?”

I nod, pushing my coffee aside. “Yeah.”

“Then do you want the course or not?”

The question hangs in the air, but I already know the answer. I don’t want the course. I don’t want to spend the next few weeks training strangers in advanced tracking and how to hunt. I don’t want to be standing here, pretending I’m fine when everything inside me is one big, tangled mess.

“Pass,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

Hank lifts a brow. “That’s a first.”

I don’t respond, and neither does Jax. He watches me for another long moment before returning to the agenda. The meeting moves on—talk of trail maintenance, security patrols, prep for the colder months ahead, finishing the last cabin for Ghost Security. It should be easy to focus on these things, but it’s not.

The pieces of my life don’t fit together anymore.

By the time the meeting wraps up, I’m already reaching for my keys, ready to get out of here, to put some distance between myself and the tight, suffocating feeling in my chest.

But Hank catches me before I can escape.

“Hold up,” he says, falling into step beside me as I head toward the door. “You’ve been acting like a man with something stuck in his teeth since we sat down. Tell me what’s going on.”

I grunt, pushing open the door and stepping out into the crisp morning air. “Nothing to tell.”

Hank barks a laugh, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Bullshit.”

I don’t respond and instead walk toward my truck, but Hank isn’t the type to let things slide. “Is this about that woman? You haven’t been the same since she was here,” he says, voice quieter now. Patient.

I stop walking. My hands tighten into fists at my sides, but I’m only mad at myself. I had a chance, and I fucking blew it.

She did feel it. I saw it in her eyes that last morning. I saw how she lingered, the way her fingers tightened around her car door like she was waiting for something—for me to stop her.

And I didn’t.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand over my jaw. “Lindy. And yes. She has a life back in Raytown.”

Hank snorts. “Yeah? And where does that leave you?”

I grit my teeth. “It’s not that simple.”

Hank steps in front of me, blocking my path, his expression intense. “No, it’s really fucking simple. You want her. You let her leave. And now you’re standing here like a goddamn idiot, pretending that everything is fine.”

The words hit harder than they should. Because he’s right.

I can lie to myself all I want. I can tell myself that letting Lindy go was the smart choice, the right choice. That she has no business with a man like me. That I did what I had to do.

But I can’t ignore the truth clawing its way to the surface.

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