Page 70 of Bad Decisions & Back Roads

Timothy hopped out, dropped the tailgate, and motioned me back.

I climbed up beside him in silence, sitting thigh to thigh while he unpacked sandwiches and fries like this was some ordinary afternoon instead of the aftermath of my world caving in.Then he reached into a cooler tucked in the bed and pulled out two beers chilled in ice.

I blinked at him.“Do you drive around prepared for emotional emergencies?”

One shoulder lifted.“Sometimes the days get long.I come down here, drink a beer alone, and clear my head.”

That answer lodged somewhere sharp in my chest.

NotI go with friends.

NotI blow off steam.

Just…I come down here alone.

He twisted the cap off one bottle, handed it to me, then tapped his against mine before taking a sip.

“So,” he said gently, staring out over the water, “you want to tell me about him now?”

I looked at him.Really looked.I noted the shadows carved beneath his eyes.A tightness lived in his shoulders like he wore the weight of half the county there.He hid exhaustion behind easy smiles and that steady way he moved through chaos like he was built to carry it.Suddenly, I couldn’t talk about Justin.Not when the man beside me looked like he was quietly breaking himself in half to hold everything together.

“I’m worried about you,” I said.

His head turned sharply, genuine surprise flashing across his face.“Me?”He snorted a small laugh, like the idea was ridiculous.“Why?I didn’t have the day you had.”

“You ended up trapped in a life you didn’t want.You fought real hard against it.”My voice softened.“You run two businesses.That alone would bury most people.Then you took on raising Sofia by yourself.”

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck.“My parents help a lot with Sofia.”

“You’re the one getting up in the middle of the night when she cries.”I held his gaze.“You’re the one building fairy treehouses and making waffles.Somehow, you still show up for everyone else.”

He stiffened.

“So, tell me, Mr.Overachiever…” I nudged his knee with mine.“How areyou, really?”

His mouth flattened into a thin line.“I’m good.”A small pause.“It’s fine.”The words came too fast.Too polished.A script he’d repeated so many times he probably believed it.

“Bullshit.”

He laughed softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it.

“When was the last time you took Sofia to the beach?Or Disney?Or anywhere that wasn’t work, church, or some other sort of obligation?When was the last time you took two or three days in a row off?No work.No phone callsaboutwork.”

His eyes dropped to the beer bottle in his hand, thumb worrying at the label.That silence was answer enough.

I tried again, quieter this time.“When’s the last day you had where you didn’t carry the whole world on your back?”

He shrugged, but it looked tired, not indifference, but surrender.“I’m handling it.”

No.He was surviving it.

The thought of him wearing himself down to nothing while smiling through it, insisting he was fine while quietly bleeding himself dry for everyone he loved hurt me more than it should have.

“It’s okay not to be everything all the time,” I said softly.“You know that, right?What do you do for fun?For stress relief?”

Another shrug.“I run in the mornings.”

I made a face.“The way you say it doesn’t sound like fun.I appreciate that it keeps you in disgustingly good shape…” I let my eyes drift slowly over him.“I would absolutely volunteer as part of your stress-relief plan.For therapeutic purposes, of course.Maybe for my own refresher course on exactly how good that shape is.”