Page 25 of Unbearable

My tattoo seemed to sting as if it had just been inked onto my skin instead of being almost a decade old.

The living room light was still on as I pulled up to the house. On a sigh, I headed inside, bracing myself to face Dotty.

My usual happy-go-lucky attitude was nowhere to be found after my conversation with Dorian. Maybe I was stretched too thin lately—balancing ranch work, helping Dotty with the cabin, and trying to avoid her despite her being only a room away. Not to mention the battle in my head that was relentless, driving me insane.

Dorian’s words replayed in my mind.

I wanted to be close to her. To see her. To talk to her, but I also needed to stay far away.

Because being near her was pure torture, a constant reminder of everything that happened all those years ago. I understood why she could barely tolerate me. She had every right not to, after all.

Every encounter with Dotty was a gut punch, a painful reminder of the past.

I walked in, setting my keys down and sitting on the bench to take off my boots. Her scent filled the space, and it pissed me off.

Did she have to smell so fucking good?

I purposefully didn’t address her when I walked in. The end of the day always left me more vulnerable, making it harder to hide behind the mask I often put on for others. I needed to keep my distance to ensure I didn’t do anything stupid.

She looked up at me from where she sat on the couch. “Hey, sorry. I’ll get out of your way. I was about to head to bed,” she said, grabbing her computer and an oversizedwater bottle covered in stupid fucking stickers from the counter.

I grunted in response, determined to avoid a conversation. I wanted a shower and to go to sleep.

“Alright then.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Did you talk to Dorian and Colt about helping with the roof? I wanted to check before planning out other renovations.”

“Yes, next weekend,” I grunted.

“Got it. Sorry to bother you. Good night.”

“Mhm.” I cut off any further conversation and retreated to my room.

I hated myself for it, but I didn’t regret it. I had to learn to keep my distance because, despite everything, I would always be fucking greedy for more of Dotty James.

NINE

Dotty

WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME? - TAYLOR SWIFT

Over the past week,Trent had nearly perfected the art of avoidance, communicating through little more than grunts and nods. Not that I particularly minded, given that he seemed pissed at me for simply existing.

This hot-and-cold routine was completely new for him, at least for me. He had always been the happy-go-lucky type, not someone who acted like one of my grumpy brothers. Ever since my arrival in Woodstone, he always left me extra coffee in the pot and even stocked the freezer with my favorite ice cream and snacks.

But when he did talk to me, or ratherdidn’t talk, he acted as if I was the last person in the universe he wanted to see. His actions were kind and thoughtful, yet his demeanor was cold and distant.

I had long accepted that understanding the male psyche was beyond me, and frankly, I had no desire to try to decipher Trent Akers.

I packed my weekend bag for my stay with Gracie, making sure to include plenty of activities for us. As I was about to leave the room, I bumped into Trent.

Great.

Every time I saw him, it would still take a minute for it to fully sink in that he was the same boy I grew up with.

Because I remember a tall, lanky boy with shaggy hair and only a few hairs that tickled his upper lip.

And how he stood almost a foot taller than me, muscular and broad, but he still had that stupid dimple that only came out when he smiled. His facial hair was a tad longer than usual, and I hated that I noticed that.

He raised his eyebrow at me, noticing my lingering gaze. I internally scolded myself and cleared my throat.

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