Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Then I put her out of my mind, too, and focused only on the mission in front of me.
“Let’s go save some lives.”
Chapter Ten
Morgan
I’m leaving you the truck. The best memories I have of it are with you in the passenger seat, so it seems fitting.
I stared at the door handle of Will’s truck and reached, only to drop my hand yet again. Sam had told me to take it easy while she was visiting Grayson’s grandparents for the weekend, but I wasn’t going to show up at Dr. Circe’s office next week having failed with the simple homework assignment of opening the damned door.
But what if I opened the door and had another anxiety attack? Even worse, what if Jackson saw it? How was I supposed to go out with the man if I wasn’t even healthy enough to open this door?
A set of tires crunched the gravel of my driveway, and a blue sedan stopped right in front of the truck. Christina climbed out.
Great, now I had a witness to my failure.
“Well, good morning, sunshine.” Christina held a cup of coffee as she glared me down in the odd combination of yoga pants over her wetsuit.
“Hardly,” I retorted. “I thought we were meeting at your shop? And what’s with the wetsuit?”
“I thought so, too, but then you stood me up.” She tilted her head. “I even grabbed you coffee. It’s nasty when it’s hot, so I bet it’s extra special tasty when chilled by an hour of waiting.”
I looked from the coffee to her and back again. “Wait, we’re supposed to meet at nine, right?” It couldn’t possibly be that late.
“Yep, and it’s now ten.” She shook her phone.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Christina. I lost track of time.” I’d been standing here for an hour and a half? I wasn’t sure if I was more upset by the time loss or my ultimate inability to open the door.
“It’s okay. We can make the eleven o’clock class.” She walked over to the construction dumpster and tossed the coffee over the metal edge. “Now get your wetsuit and let’s go.”
“For yoga?”
She grinned. “Do you trust me?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Smart woman. What if I ask you really nicely and promise not to ask you to surf?” She batted her lashes at me.
I sighed. “Give me five?” I was supposed to be exercising my body and making new friends, and if that included putting on my wetsuit, then fine. At least I wouldn’t fail that section of my homework.
“Take ten,” she answered with a shrug.
I raced up my steps and didn’t stop until I reached my bedroom, where I went to war with the neoprene piece of hell known as my wetsuit. Good Lord, this thing exhausted every muscle I had just getting it on, but I did. Thank God I didn’t go with the full-body model or I wouldn’t have made it.
With already aching arms, I gathered my hair at the top of my head and looped it into a bun, then pulled on my yoga pants, grabbed my sunglasses, and headed back outside, where Christina patiently waited for me.
“Good girl. For your speed, I shall offer you a new cup of non-cold coffee on the way,” she said with a smirk.
We took her coupe twenty minutes north to Avon, stopping along the way for the promised caffeine hit.
“You going to pry?” I asked when I caught her glancing my way.
“Nope. I figure if you want to tell me why you were staring at a pickup truck like it was your mortal enemy, you will.” Her eyes cut my way. “Doesn’t mean I’m not dying of curiosity.”
I took a sip of the caramel macchiato as we sped along the narrow parts of the island.
“I’m struggling with a homework assignment my therapist gave me.” I glanced at her. “Does it weird you out that I’m in therapy?”
“Nope. You already told me you struggle with anxiety attacks. It weirds me out when people know they need help and still don’t seek it. Homework, huh? Dead guy problems?” she asked.
Somehow the blunt way she addressed it made me want to tell her.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to open the door to his truck once a day. Just open it, not get in or drive it or anything, and I can’t manage to do it.”
“Why not?” She pulled into a small parking lot on the inlet side of the island.
“Probably because the last time I opened it, Jackson had a front-row seat to an epic anxiety attack. I’m not too eager to undo all the progress I’ve made and risk that happening again.” I nearly high-fived myself for analyzing my own motives pretty successfully.
She parked, then turned toward me. “Which part? The attack? Or Jax seeing it? Also, it’s adorable that you call him Jackson.”
I laughed off the last comment. “Both, I guess. I knew better than to try it again, honestly. Sam only left for the weekend because her husband’s family asked her to come up for dinner, and I refused to go with her. She told me to give it a day and we’d try again when she gets back on Sunday, but I just stood there in front of that truck for an hour and a half after she left.”