Always Enough (Meet Me in Montana 2)

Lincoln’s lips pressed tightly together to keep from smiling. “Maybe he had a different reaction altogether. One that scared him.”

“Scared him?” I asked. Wait, what? That was an interesting take.

“From what Brock’s told me, Ty’s been through a lot the last few years. The car accident, the pain-pill addiction, trying to find himself . . . maybe he felt something with that kiss that spooked him. You even said yourself that Ty made you feel things you hadn’t felt in a few years. Maybe he felt something for you that he’d never felt before.”

I stared at her for a moment. I wanted desperately to believe what she was saying. Then I laughed. “No, I think Ty saw I wasn’t going to be a one-night stand, and that was what turned him off.”

“Then how do you explain all the bickering? The way he looks at you sometimes, Kaylee? I see it. Brock sees it too. Hell, everyone sees it. He tries to hide it, and maybe he has his own reasons why. What about him being jealous over Channing?”

I went to speak, then snapped my mouth shut again. “Jealous?” I asked, more to myself than to Lincoln. “Do you honestly think he’s jealous?”

“Yes. My gosh, Kaylee, it’s obvious there’s something between y’all! An attraction that you really can’t deny. It’s covered up by the attitude you both give each other, but it’s clear you get under Ty’s skin, and I don’t think it’s in the way you think. I think he likes you so much, but he feels like he can’t act on it, and that agitates him. He then takes it out on you. I mean, you sorta do the same thing to him.”

I let her words rattle around in my head. “This is interesting. I suddenly feel like I’m living in one of the romance books I edit. How had I not thought of it that way?”

She took my hand and squeezed. “Sometimes that old saying about not seeing the forest for the trees is pretty spot on, my friend. Talk to him. You’re long overdue.”

We started walking again and stepped up into the gazebo, where Lincoln sat down and let out a slow breath as her entire body sagged. “I’m exhausted.”

“I bet you are, but you’re a great mom—you know that.”

Lincoln smiled and motioned for me to sit down next to her. I did and looked out over the pasture. Small patches of snow still covered the fields. With the recent warm-up, the snow had begun to melt. I loved that you could see hints of spring trying to be born, but winter was still holding on with an iron fist. I wrapped my scarf a little tighter around my neck and took in the peacefulness that was Montana.

Lincoln leaned her head on my shoulder, and it made me think of her asking about John a few minutes before.

It had been three years since John killed himself. I’d had no idea he had been so unhappy. No one did. And he left a note that simply said he was sorry. It was a complete shock to me and his family. Even his boss said that John had been excited about a new promotion at work.

That was the worst part about his suicide: I had no answers. Nothing that told me why. Could I have done something to help him? Was there something I missed that I shouldn’t have? The endless what-ifs nearly drove me insane and were part of the reason it took me so long to come to grips with his death.

The first year, I felt like I was living in my own personal hell. I didn’t even leave my apartment for months. Once I left Georgia, and the familiar stomping grounds I’d shared with John, I stopped having the nightmares. I didn’t miss the feeling of waking up drenched in sweat, screaming for John not to pull the trigger. I wasn’t even home when he took his own life, but the dreams always felt so damn real.

Of course, my therapist got me through most of it, especially the part about me keeping myself locked away from the world. It took me months before I could walk past the coffee shop we would stop at together every morning without breaking down and crying. And I hated myself for so many reasons. I couldn’t save John, I was being weak, and all I wanted to do was forget. My chest felt like it was tightening just thinking back on it all.

There were so many times I’d thought about sleeping with someone, anyone, to take my mind off how lonely I felt. How hurt I was that John didn’t trust me enough to tell me he wasn’t happy, to share his suffering with me.

I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold weather. I pushed the negative thoughts about that time of my life away and closed my eyes. It was moments like this that I did what the therapist told me to do when I felt those old familiar feelings coming back.