Chapter 25

25

Davey

Two weeks. Mack and the kids both finish up school and work at the end of this week, meaning we're going to have a lot of time together. The problem is, two weeks seems like way too short a time.

Which is hilarious when this is the usual amount of time I get to spend with them.

How did I ever think that was enough?

My departure is looming over my head. Sure, banking all of this leave to use at once was a great idea, but all it's done is shown me what I was missing. Made me want for things I was better off not wanting, especially when I can't find an out.

Even Art's contacts were quiet. He's going to try again in the new year, but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't worried about going back to work and getting complacent again. My job is the type of job people don't resign from .

I pull my laptop out and hole up at the table, feeling so remarkably at home. I've never let myself get this way before, always knowing how soon I need to leave again, but I'm going to fight tooth and nail to stop from going this time.

All it would take is another job.

On a whim, and almost scared to do it, I pull up our budget and then … delete my salary off it. I stare at the glaring red numbers, faced with the reality of what quitting means. We're either paying the mortgage or paying for Kiera and Van's schooling and groceries. We have no extra for college. Nothing to cover insurance, let alone come close to the health plan I'm on at work.

Dates like the other night? Forget it.

It's so tempting—and that temptation is becoming worse every day—to send in my resignation and be done with it. But if that happens, this is the result.

There's no way Mack and I could possibly be happy living one bill away from losing everything. Sure, we have savings set aside now, but dipping into that is a slippery slope to foreclosure and bankruptcy.

I cup my hands and scream into them, wanting this to be fucking easy for once. We've done hard. We've paid our fucking dues. When does this end?

I'm torturing myself going over it again and again. Nothing has changed. My options haven't shifted. The time of year has me kneecapped by how much I can achieve, and at this rate, I'll be driving back to work in two weeks.

I can do it. I can get through, knowing that a solution is coming.

Except nothing has jumped out at you before .

I flip off the negative voice, snap my laptop shut, then snatch up my keys and head into town. For once, I don't want to talk to someone. I want to buy a coffee to keep my hands warm, then take the longest walk along the boardwalk imaginable.

I pull up at Killer Brew and order, then hang back in the chilly air and wait. It's as I'm waiting that a familiar face approaches, and every nerve in my body makes me want to turn away and pretend I haven't seen him.

But I don't.

For Mack.

If he says Luke is okay, I have to trust him.

Luke orders, cheeks as slapped red as his hair, and it's not until he steps away that he notices me. That same friendly smile he was wearing the day he came to the house crosses his face, and the suspicious side of me tries to see through the bullshit.

"Davey, right?" he asks, approaching. I have to give it to him: it takes some serious confidence to approach the ex-husband of the man you kissed two weeks ago. He points at his chest. "Luke."

"I know."

"Ah." His smile falters. "If it helps, all he ever did was talk about you."

That does help chip away at my dislike of him. "It does. Slightly."

Luke laughs and ducks his chin into his scarf. "You can't blame me for trying. Mack's a great guy, and I want to settle down. But I know he's not my guy. I just want you to know that you won't get any problems from me—even if you didn't already own Mack's whole heart."

"Thanks." I hesitate, then hold out my hand. Luke shakes it. "I appreciate you saying that."

He shrugs, hands back in his pockets. "Yeah, I don't like the home-wrecker thing some people are into. I like this town. I want to make some friends, maybe find a guy of my own, build a life here, you know? I don't want issues with anyone."

"If you're true to your word, then you won't have issues with me."

"Thanks." He chews the inside of his lip. "Are you … are you going to hate if Mack and I are friends?"

My automatic answer is fuck yes, stay away from him , but I swallow it down. "It will be weird, but I'll get used to it. I trust him completely. And you say you won't be an issue, so …"

His sigh is caught by the breeze. "That means a lot. I've been here a year and only really know people in passing. Ford and Orson are always great to hang out with, and I have a couple of friends from work."

"Where do you work?"

"Up at Kil Pen. Do tours and stuff. It's been great."

"Hmm …" My gaze drifts to where I can make out a corner of it from behind Killer Brew. "Quiet time of year now, isn't it?"

"Yep. Thankfully I'm one of their full-time staff, but there are a fair few people we said goodbye to in early November. So that part sucks."

"I bet."

My coffee is called, which gets me out of continuing the forced conversation. "Well, I'll see you around."

Surprisingly, I don't completely dread that idea.

My walk takes me around the lake and back again. I'm moving enough that it keeps the cold away, even if my coffee doesn't agree, and the mindless walking does the trick of easing my frustration.

Or maybe that was the conversation with Luke. No idea.

On my way back to the car, I find myself detouring away from the water and toward the large building a block away. It's all red brick with a short spire on one side that holds a large clock face.

I can see why Mack loves it here. There's a park across the road, and every time I've been here recently, I can see us spending the morning with Kiera and Van at the park before picking out a book on the way home.

Hell, maybe Mack can pick out some more sexy books too. I wouldn't be opposed to reading those to him before bedtime.

My footsteps slow as I reach the doors and check inside to make sure he isn't at his desk. It's clear, so I tilt my head down and walk quickly, ducking down the usual aisle and following my path toward the back where the fiction books are.

For something so popular, The Hobbit mustn't be a book many people read because it's sitting right where it normally is.

I pull it out and then realize I have no fucking clue what to write this time.

My Hobbit knowledge only goes so far, and I don't care what Mack says: this book is boring as fuck. I've never been able to get past the front page. Thank you, Google.

"I knew it was you."

"Argh." I jump and drop the book, the hard corner smashing into my foot. Pain shoots up my leg, and I struggle to hold back the curse that tries to slip out.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Mack says, stooping to pick it up.

"I'm okay," I grit out.

Mack laughs. "I was talking to the book."

"There is no way that's true."

He slides The Hobbit back onto the shelf and turns sympathetic eyes on me. "You okay?"

"Fine. It was just … sudden. I guess. "

"Right."

I shake my foot out for emphasis, and then his words catch up with me. "What do you mean, you knew?"

He leans back against the shelf. "At first, I thought it might have been Luke leaving me the notes. He likes the book, and he had visited when I found those first two left for me."

"Of course he had," I mutter.

"But the next one didn't sound like him. Then when you mentioned it the other night, I checked the handwriting again …" His smile starts out slow and builds. "You've never even watched the movies."

It's my turn to act cocky. "What do you think I've been doing while you were working?"

"You watched them?"

"Well, I haven't been sitting around doing nothing, have I?"

He watches me for a moment. "Which ones?"

"Which what?"

"Movies. Which ones have you watched? Did you do the series as well?"

"Ah … series?"

"Yeah, there's a TV series."

Of fucking course there is. "I watched The Hobbit . And the two after. You're telling me there's a series too?"

"Wait. You skipped Lord of the Rings ?"

I do not like where this is going. "Umm … if you promise not to ask me for any of the details … no?"

"You did!"

"I thought there was just The Hobbit ! They already squeezed three movies out of the one book. What else could they have done?"

He sighs and steps closer, then pulls out one … two … three heavy books. "These are the Lord of the Rings. Three books, three movies. The director's cut versions are over three hours long. And the effects? They were unmatched in those days. Legolas, Gandalf, and Bilbo are both in this trilogy too and?—"

My hand comes down over his mouth. "Slow down there, nerd." His eyes light up. "What I'm hearing is that I'm not nearly caught up enough and we have a movie marathon in our future."

He snatches my hand away. "We can watch the first on Saturday night when the kids are in bed. Then Sunday morning, your parents always want to take them for a couple of hours, so we can watch the second, and then we'll wrap up the third on Sunday night. It'll be perfect."

And maybe I'm feeling sentimental, or slightly guilty over having to leave again soon, or I've just forgotten how much these things are so not my thing, but I agree.

The lengths I'll go to just to spend time with him.

"You're letting me pick the snacks."