Page 52 of Roughing It

Chapter15

Maddox

Later in the evening, I check on the horses one more time after passing Eden my house keys so she can get Nudge and bring her back to the suite. We both agreed it was a lot nicer than my apartment, with better access to lanterns and everything we needed to keep the place lit as the sun set and we lost what little light was filtering through the rain.

The last thing I want to do is squander any more of my time with her since I can already feel the minutes ticking away. The rain’s slowed to a soft drizzle, and I know by morning, there will be sun, and the road repairs will begin.

It’s the beginning of the end between me and Eden, and I absolutely fucking hate the way that sits in my gut like I swallowed a boulder. There was this saying my CO used to shout at us that my fractured brain doesn’t remember entirely anymore.

The words are lost to me, but the meaning has always stuck. It was something about not fighting the tides—and how they come in and go out, but they’re always dependable. She said it to mean that there’s no sense in fighting what was, only to prepare for what will be.

I can’t change Eden’s life just as much as she can’t change mine. I’ve only known her a handful of days. She’d probably kick me in the balls if I suggested that she upend her life and figure out how to be happy living up here in the middle of nowhere with me.

And as much as I want to believe that someday I could return to society and function without falling apart, the truth is, I don’t want to. I’m happy. I love my little family, and my horses, and the damn kitten I’ve apparently adopted. I love my job and my home, and I’m not quite sure that sacrificing all of it for love would ever allow me to balance the scales again.

I’d made that mistake once when I’d married my ex. I can’t do it again.

It’s not fair to me, and it would never be fair to Eden.

Still, the ache in my throat refuses to go away as I make my way toward the kitchen. I can hear the soft hum of the generator and the sound of René’s soft crooning. I know he’s got the gas working again, and I can smell meat cooking, which must make him happy.

They don’t have the lights on to save power, but there’s an almost preternatural glow coming from all the camping lanterns they’ve strung up around the hot line.

René is cooking in boat shoes with no socks, shorts, and a T-shirt. He’s got a bandana wrapped around his head to keep his hair away, and he looks like a man who just tumbled off a deserted island.

“What’s good, Chef?”

He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. “Something to impress your girl.”

I scoff. “She was happy with sandwiches.”

“Don’t try to convince me that anyone will be satisfied with cold food,” he shoots back, pointing his spatula at me before turning back to the pan. “She’ll love this.”

I peer over his shoulder and recognize the pan of risotto, along with the smell of cassoulet, which I’m certain is what’s cooking in the dutch oven on the far side of the burner. It’s one of his country meets fine dining meals that the guests here seem to love so much.

“You really don’t have to do this for—” I begin, but his sharp glare cuts me off.

“You like her,” he says, and I have to nod because I don’t lie to my family. “I don’t know what your plans are from here on out, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t leave this place with at least a dozen better memories than she started with.”

My heart swells with affection for these people, even if it’s tempered by the fact that it’s likely I’ll never see her again. Eden’s been obviously hurt and far too neglected by people who don’t want to look past her busy schedule or whatever other superficial reason they have for passing her by.

But that won’t last.

Someone good and worthy will snatch her up and make her feel adored and needed and wanted just like she deserves. It kills me that I won’t be that man, but what can I do?

A weekend fling is just that—and I knew that going in.

“Keep your phone on,” René orders. “I’m going to set a table and call you when it’s finished.”

I know that means a romantic table by low light and probably some fancy patisserie he’s kept on ice during the shutdown. It means feeding her a good hot meal and probably being rewarded for it and then letting her go come morning.

* * *

Half an hour later, I find Eden in the suite, lying on the bed with Nudge curled up on her chest. The cat’s purring so loud I can hear her from the doorway, and my cheeks ache with how hard the sight makes me smile. Eden winks at me as she gently runs the tip of her finger over Nudge’s tiny body, and the cat makes a slight noise of protest when I carefully ease up next to them, jostling the bed a bit with my bulk.

“She’s settled in okay?” I ask.

Eden nods. “She seems pretty content anywhere as long as someone’s paying her attention.”

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