Page 7 of Moving Forward

I’ve tried to imagine myself dating a girl, slowly falling in love with her laugh, her smile, her heart, her voice, everything about her. Eventually I’d propose and she’d say yes. We’d get married and buy a house, fill it with kids. I want that life. I want the love that Grams talks about. But even though I believed in it, I didn’t believe in it for me.

Women don’t want to settle down with men who harness their emotions through pain. They don’t want a man who’s filled to the brim with rage or disinterest in life. They want something comfortable and uncomplicated—a love they don’t have to question or be wary of.

“I think we’re gonna need another crate, Mildred,” Grams calls. I blink and shake off those thoughts. Thinking about what I want versus what I can’t have is a dangerous road to travel.

Grams pats my back and glances up at me. She brings her hand up to my chin and forces me to look her in the eyes. “I love you, Cain. I just wish I could heal whatever it is that’s so broken in you.”

CHAPTER THREE

MAX

The closer we get to Orchard Valley, the harder my heart seems to beat. Even with Ellie blaring music, it’s difficult to hear anything else over the unsteady pounding in my ears. I hoped my nerves might settle if I had something to distract me, like driving, but I’m beginning to realize I was wrong. Now I’m on edge while driving.

“Your wheels are turning,” Ellie points out.

“My wheels are always turning,” I sigh, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.

She turns the music down. We started our drive late because Ellie had a final shift to cover at the bar, while I still had some unfinished business with our landlord. It’s verging on midnight, which Ellie jokingly blamed on my slow driving. I rolled my eyes. If Ellie was driving, we’d probably be in a ditch somewhere. In fact, that’s where we ended up last time I let her drive. The time before that we were pulled over.

“Well, your wheels are turning too much.”

I shake my head, turning onto the bridge that takes us through the last small town before Orchard Valley. “It’s midnight, and if I don’t let my wheels turn, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Like you would ever do that.”

“Um,” I laugh, “you kept me up until five in the morning drinking strawberry daiquiris and dancing to pop songs.”

“I wanted to have a fun night—like we were fourteen-year-olds having a sleepover.”

“Minus the alcohol, I hope.”

She waves me off. “Good thing you didn’t know me at fourteen. I was a little wild.”

“I cannot imagine,” I say dryly.

“You diverted the conversation!” She begins fidgeting with her hands in her lap, turning her engagement ring around her finger. My own finger starts to ache, my ring suddenly heavy. “I know this has to be hard on you and I’m really sorry for that.”

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