Page 102 of Long Shot

“You care about the people who work for you, even though you pretend you’re all about the bottom line. You probably should have fired Sid months ago but you kept giving him more chances.”

My gut tightens.

“You even care about me and Hayden.” She juts her chin up. “Because of Beck and Marco.”

Damn. It’s true I’ve developed some affection for her and Hayden. Okay, fuck, I’d lay my life on the line for them, too, if I had to.

“All those women you slept with . . . I know you didn’t love them. But every time one of them showed up here looking for you, brokenhearted, you treated them gently. With respect and courtesy. You’re not a heartless asshole.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“And Reese . . . come on, Cade. Admit it. You have feelings for her.”

I swallow.

She holds my gaze and I almost want to chuckle because she’s fierce and passionate and kind of cute. But I rub at my churning gut and don’t smile.

“Look, when I was going to Spain, I realized I was going for the wrong reasons. I kept telling myself I had to prove I was doing something serious and worthwhile . . . but I didn’t have to go to Spain to do that, so I changed my mind. I should have told Marco that, but I didn’t, because I thought he didn’t care. He didn’t want me to go, but he was too scared to admit it. To himself, and to me. If he had . . . everything would have been different. Don’t sit here pretending you don’t give a shit whether she stays or goes, because you do. And don’t just admit it to yourself. If you want her to stay . . .tellher.”

I stare into Carrie’s eyes, my jaw slack. I let her words play over and over in his head. “But . . . what if . . . she still leaves?”

She closes her eyes briefly, then straightens. “Then you’re no worse off than you are right now. But at least you were honest. With yourself, and with her. And she’ll be making that decision knowing that. Which she’s not right now. Right now she’s leaving, thinking you don’t care.”

“Jesus.” I rub a hand over my mouth. “You don’t pull any punches.”

“Someone needs to tell you to get your head out of your ass.”

I choke out a mirthless laugh. “Thanks.”

She gives me a long, stern glare, then whirls around and stalks out.

I lean back in my chair, slouching down and closing my eyes.

Carrie sort of knows what she’s talking about, since she and Marco went through something similar. Maybe she has a point.

I admire Reese for her bravery in getting through that shooting, seeing her coworkers bleeding on the floor of the kitchen she was responsible for. Being strong enough to move across the country to heal, to set foot into a kitchen again. And being brave enough to do that job again. She called me a hero . . . but I’m a goddamn coward.

I understand why true intimacy is hard for me. I understand why I always try to maintain control over my emotions. The chaotic life I grew up in taught me to be afraid of those feelings, to be afraid of losing control, and real intimacy with someone makes me feel like I’ve lost control.

Reesemakes me feel like I’ve lost control. And now I’ve lost her . . . because I’m too chicken shit to admit I’ve fallen in love with her.

Could I really have what my friends have? For a brief moment I thought . . . maybe. Maybe things between Reese and me could really be . . . something. Then Chef Superdouche showed up and took her away from me and I realized I’m never going to have that.

She’s leaving, thinking that you don’t care.

I do care. And she should know that. Even if it doesn’t make any difference, she should know that. She should know that I think she’s brave and strong, talented and smart, funny and generous. She should know that she inspires me to be better . . . to be brave enough to admit I have feelings for her. That I love her. And to be brave enough to tell her that.

Christ. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.

Has she left already? She can’t have found a new place in L.A. and moved there already. I have to find her. I’ll jump in my SUV and hit I-5 and head north if I have to. I’ll track her down, wherever she is. Somehow.

Reese

My heart bumps when my phone rings. I grab for it and peer at the screen. It’s Ventura Animal Shelter. Huh. I swipe to answer the call.

“Hi, Reese?”

“Yes.”

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