Page 77 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
“So you can crush it?” That was unfair. I knew it the second it came out. The second before pain slashed across Hunter’s face.
“If you really think I’d crush your heart, then you’re right. You don’t know me at all.”
I double-checked the drop box, hoping I’d missed a note or something the first time I’d checked. It was empty. The only thing in there had been the key now resting in my hand.
Hunter had moved out of my motel.
I hadn’t heard from him since I’d watched him drive away from the motel yesterday after our fight by the flower bed.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d dropped off his key. His house was done and I’d known he’d always planned on leaving this week, but that didn’t make this easier.
“Mommy, are you sad?”
I sniffled and swiped the tears away. “A little bit, buddy. But I’ll be okay.”
Forcing a smile, I bent down and kissed his forehead and then I put away the key on my pegboard.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go make dinner and play with Pickle.” I guided Coby toward the stairs.
“Is Hunter coming?”
I shook my head. “No, he isn’t.”
“Why?”
“Just because. Do you think Pickle might want to go for an extra-long walk tonight? Maybe down to the ice cream shop?”
“Yeah!”
I followed Coby upstairs, glad I’d been able to dodge his questions about Hunter for one more evening. Answering them would just bring back the tears I’d been fighting all day.
“Come on, Coby. Help me put these away, please.” I was on my hands and knees, picking up Hot Wheels strewn around the living room.
He picked up a car and drove it across the carpet to the storage tub. “Can Hunter have a sleepover tonight?”
Another day had passed and I had spent all evening answering Hunter questions from Coby.
“No, buddy. Remember what I told you?”
“He’s at his own house now,” he moped.
“But we can still do fun stuff. After we get these put away, should we do a special bath? Maybe use a color bomb?”
“Yeah! A blue one!” He dropped the car and stripped off his clothes as he raced to the bathroom.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Two days since our fight and I hadn’t spoken to Hunter. He’d called and left me a voicemail. He’d pleaded with me to call him back so we could talk.
But I’d stayed silent.
I’d thrown myself into work these past two days, hoping my normal pre-Hunter routine would help me make sense of everything. I’d hoped that after a couple of days, I would know what I wanted to say.
But for the first time in years, work hadn’t helped.
No matter how hard I’d tried, all I could think about was Hunter.
He was on my mind while I scrubbed bathrooms and while I made beds. He was on my mind while I lay awake at night, unable to sleep.
All I’d thought about for two days was if I had the guts to take him back.
