Page 105 of Chasing Smoke

“It doesn’t matter because I’m not taking the job, but I wanted you to know…”

My hands fly up at my sides. “Oh, you’re not going to take it, so now you want a clear conscience? You don’t get it, Ansel. You lied to me. Lied. Caleb lied to me on numerous occasions, it appears. He had an entire life I didn’t know about. Lies upon lies. I’m not interested in being in another relationship with a man I can’t trust, a man who plays with my heart.”

Ansel stands, abandoning his pizza on the bench. He takes my shoulders, but I step back. A flash of panic crosses his face. “Collins, I did it to protect you. I didn’t want you worrying that I would be leaving when I wasn’t even sure I would be.”

“If that’s true, then why are you telling me now?” I cross my arms and jut out my hip.

He hangs his head.

My arms fly out at my sides again. “I can’t deal with this right now.” I bend at the waist and pick up the pizza that fell onto the ground, then walk the few steps to a garbage can and toss it in. I whirl on Ansel, my anger not going away. “I can’t be treated with kid gloves, Ansel. This relationship doesn’t work if you try to ‘protect’ me. And did you ever think that I should have known before we got involved that you might be moving to Portland? Give me the opportunity to make that decision with all the information?”

“Collins—” He steps forward to break the distance.

I put my hand in the air. “No.” He stops and draws back, giving me the space I’m asking for. “I need to think. Don’t call me tonight. I’m not interested in hearing your excuses.”

I storm down the sidewalk.

“Collins—”

“Don’t!” I shout, putting my hand in the air.

I have no idea how I get there, but once I’m in my SUV, I put the key in the ignition and purposely don’t look at the sidewalk. If he’s still there, I don’t care.

FORTY-SEVEN

Ansel

Well, I fucked that up royally.

My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I make another aimless turn on a country road. I don’t even know where I’m going, I’ve just been driving around. Frustration has miles after miles ticking up my odometer, but I have no one to blame but myself.

Finally, I decide I need reinforcements to help me figure out how to unfuck myself. Fowler will be busy at the bar, and Elliott will be grabbing Baylor from school soon, so I ring up Hollis on my Bluetooth and tell him I’m coming over. He tells me he’s in his shop, so I do a U-turn and head back to Echo Lake.

Unlike Elliott, who lives on the lake, and me, who lives in town, Hollis lives in a cabin in the woods and has a large shop on his property that he runs his business out of.

The sound of tires on gravel comes through my open window as I drive up his driveway. I veer to the left around the cabin and continue toward the shop at the back of his property. The minute I park my truck, Sheriff bounds out of the shop. When I get out of my truck, I give him some of the loving he’s looking for, rubbing behind his chocolate-colored ears. He might be the cutest lab, especially with a red bandana tied around his neck.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”

He sits, mouth open, tongue hanging out, tail wagging.

A whistle sounds from inside of the shop, and Sheriff bolts back inside.

When I step inside the shop, I’m greeted by the scent of sawdust. My brother’s shop has big windows on two sides and is filled with raw wood, half-finished products, and about a million tools that I have no idea what they do.

Hollis is filing a piece of wood, but he sets his tool down and turns toward me, brushing the sawdust off the front of his shirt. “Drink?”

“A beer if you got it.”

He nods and opens his old beer fridge covered in stickers.

Sheriff wanders back over to me as I climb up on one of the worktables.

“What’s with the fashion accessory?” I point at the red bandana.

Hollis grabs two beers from the fridge and hands one to me before sitting on another worktable. “The groomer.” He shrugs as though that’s explanation enough.

“You take him to the groomer?” Who takes an outdoor dog like Sheriff to a groomer?