Page 15 of The Promises We Broke
"Then we'll keep showing up anyway," Delaney said with a smile. "That's what family does, remember?"
It wasn't much longer before Delaney said they needed to get back for Cade. They said their goodbyes and left me sitting in Booker's living room, staring out the window at the ranch that had somehow become home again. Whether it was a temporary home was really up to me. But there was a part of me that was starting to see it. Starting to see the possibility of what it could be like to not be alone anymore. And for the first time in eleven years, I felt something that might have been hope.
Maybe Trace was right. Maybe Regina had won for too long already.
Maybe it was time to stop punishing myself and start figuring out how to make amends.
To be the uncle Cade deserved, the brother Trace needed, the man who could face the people he'd hurt and take responsibility for his actions.
Even if that meant accepting that some damage couldn't be undone.
Chapter 5
Billie
The sound of my Honda's engine turning over on the third try was as familiar as my own heartbeat. I'd been meaning to get it looked at, but there was something comforting about the ritual of coaxing life out of something that probably should have given up years ago. Maybe we understood each other, my car and I. Both of us stubbornly functional despite having seen better days.
The drive to Booker's ranch gave me twenty minutes to practice my professional voice, to remind myself that this was just another therapy session with just another patient. Never mind that my hands had been shaking when I'd packed my equipment this morning. Never mind that I'd changed clothes three times before settling on scrubs that were professional enough to maintain boundaries but fitted enough to make me feel confident.
Never mind that I'd been thinking about Gage Farrington far more than any medical professional should be thinking about a patient.
His progress over the past week had been remarkable. Range of motion in his shoulder improving ahead of schedule, his pain levels dropping consistently, his mobility increasing daily. Everything about his recovery was textbook perfect.
So why did I feel like I was watching him prepare to run again?
Maybe it was the way he deflected every compliment about his improvement. The way he talked about his recovery timeline like he was counting down to something. The careful distance he maintained even when accepting help from his family.
Or maybe it was the way he looked at me during our sessions. Like he was memorizing my face for when he disappeared again.
I pulled into the ranch driveway, noting that Booker's truck was gone along with Trace's and Xander's vehicles. The investor meeting. Booker had mentioned it in passing yesterday, something about licensing requirements for the Second Chance Ranch expansion. Important enough that all three brothers needed to be there.
Which meant Gage would be alone. That wasn't something I'd considered up until now.
I told myself the slight acceleration of my pulse was professional concern. Patients recovering from traumatic injuries shouldn't be left unsupervised for extended periods. It had nothing to do with the fear that being alone would give him too much time to think, too much space to plan whatever escape route he was undoubtedly considering.
Val appeared as I climbed out of my car, her brown and white coat gleaming in the afternoon sun. The Australian Shepherd bounded over with her characteristic enthusiasm, tail wagging as she nudged my hand with her nose.
"Hey, beautiful girl," I said, scratching behind her ears. "How's our patient today? Still being difficult?"
Val's response was to lead me toward the front door, glancing back as if to make sure I was following. Smart dog. She'dprobably been keeping an eye on Gage, making sure he didn't try anything too ambitious while his brothers were away.
I knocked once before letting myself in, calling out as I entered the familiar warmth of the ranch house.
"Gage? It's Billie. Time for torture... I mean, physical therapy."
"In here," came his voice from the living room, and I was relieved to hear he sounded stronger than he had during our last session.
I found him exactly where I'd expected, elevated leg propped on the coffee table, using his good hand to navigate what looked like websites on his laptop. He closed it quickly when I entered, but not before I caught a glimpse of the screen.
Job search sites. Multiple tabs open.
The knowledge hit me like a physical blow, but I kept my expression neutral as I set down my equipment bag. Professional. Clinical. Even though my heart was suddenly racing for all the wrong reasons.
"How are you feeling today?" I asked, pulling out my tablet and settling into the chair across from him.
"Better," he said, and for once it sounded like the truth. "Stronger. The pain's down to maybe a four on most days."
I made notes, trying to ignore the laptop sitting between us like evidence of his eventual betrayal. "That's excellent progress. Have you been taking your medication as prescribed?"
