Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(91)
I’m deliciously sore, and overwhelmingly content. “Perfect.”
“Blair, you’re everything to me,” he whispers, his lips brushing my hairline.
I lick my lips, pulling the spoon slowly from my mouth, considering biting the bullet and telling this man, with no uncertainty, how in love with him I am. Lay it all out in front of us like a picnic. Admit to myself that it was silly to think for a single second we could take things slow.
But an obnoxious sound blares from his phone, making us both jump out of our delicious stupor.
“Oh, see. This is why I set the alarm.” He hands me the tub of ice cream and slips out from under the thin sheets. Once the alarm’s shut off, the room falls silent, and he looks at me. “Where are your meds? In the end pocket here?”
Immediately he starts rummaging, turning up with my antidepressants in hand before I even have the chance to tell him where they are.
“What…” I start to ask a question, but I don’t even know what to ask, honestly. “Do you have an alarm for my pill?”
“Just one more thing I figured I can take off your plate. Obviously, I can’t take them myself. But I can make sure you do.” He thoughtfully reads the label, then cautiously pours a single white tablet into his hand. “I didn’t see any other pill bottles there, but if you have something else you need to take, I’ll grab it.”
“N-no. Just this one.” The way he’s so nonchalant makes my heart skip a beat. I lick my lips, slowly reaching for the pill. “Is it, um, weird to you that I take these?”
“Would it be weird to me if you had to take prescription medication for literally any other reason? No.” He jumps back onto the bed, pressing a super fast kiss to my forehead. “Just…I know I’m repeating myself by saying I’m here if you need to talk. And I also know you’ll ignore my offer, because you don’t like needing help from anybody. But I want to be the one you tell everything to. Your good news, bad news, anything, everything. I want to listen to whatever you’re willing to tell me.”
Releasing a deep breath, I close my eyes and whisper, “Okay, well, I’ve been taking these since I was eighteen…. I had my first major depressive episode right after the abortion.”
Denver
(eighteen years old)
When Mom died, we didn’t anticipate Dad disappearing in the middle of the night less than a week later. But he did.
With fucking impeccable timing, too. He ducked out right before we had to bring the herd home from grazing land, leaving my brothers and me to call in favors at damn near every ranch within an hour of ours. You don’t expect losing one man to have such a huge impact, but Grandpa died and Dad took over all the ranch operations, not bothering to teach any of us. So when he left, it meant my brothers and I were essentially handed a cattle ranch we had to learn how to operate from scratch. Austin didn’t sleep for at least a week straight—trying to wrap his mind around the ranch’s finances all night, then helping with chores all day. Jackson, Red, and I were working a minimum of fifteen hours daily.
Not to mention, Dad wasn’t around for the funeral. Thank God for Kate, who took care of pretty well everything. By the time the date came three weeks after Mom had died, I was so spent, I did nothing but hold tight to Blair’s arm and wait for the day to end. My mind erased every detail of that day, wiping the slate clean so I could jump back into cattle sorting the following morning.
I didn’t complain about all of this—not really—because it’s hard to think about the fact that your entire world has fallen apart in the past few months when you’re too tired to think at all. The work was a welcome distraction.
Blair and I hadn’t talked a lot, simply because of our busy schedules. While I was busting my ass at the ranch, she was trying to play catch-up from the week she spent with me after Mom died. She drove to Wells Canyon the night before the funeral, and back to Vancouver the morning after, so I didn’t even get time with her. Otherwise, we were surviving on the occasional text message, and a phone call once a week.
Despite all that, I assumed we were in a good place, until I got back to cell service just before dusk on a random weeknight and found a cell phone crammed full of missed calls from Blair.
I hung back, letting the rest of the guys get ahead on their horses, and called her.
“Hey, baby. I miss you,” she said softly, with a waver in her voice that told me she’d been crying.
“What’s going on?”
“I…well, um, I don’t really—” Her breathing was short and snappy. Gasping.
“Take a breath, Bear. Are you okay?”
“Please promise me you aren’t going to freak out or be mad or anything. Okay?”
My stomach twisted, preparing for the worst possible scenario. And to be honest, I was so exhausted, I couldn’t even begin to picture what that scenario might be.
“Please,” she pleaded against my silence.
“Okay, I promise.”
“Denver…I—fuck—I’m…” Her words trailed off as the tears made it too hard for her to talk between heaving sobs.
“Are you—” I took a second to clear the lump in my throat before letting the words fly out at high speed, hardly taking a breath while I spoke. “Are you breaking up with me? I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, and I haven’t been able to come visit you, or even call very often. But I love you more than—”