Page 6 of What I Should Have Felt

“Sounds like you doubted me,” she replied, a little more lighthearted than a moment ago.

Leaning back once again, I stared at the ceiling as she began tending to the wound. “Never, Cher. Just surprised you’re still here.”

Something cool slid across the edge of the wound. “Somebody had to take care of this community.”

“What happened to Doc? I mean, he was the only one around these parts our entire life,” I asked, ignoring her jab at me. A well-deserved one.

“Same as almost everyone else. This billionaire realtor guy showed up, offered him a chunk of money he couldn’t refuse, so he retired. Not before Doc negotiated to make sure I came with the clinic he sold to the guy so while he can’t fire me, he can attempt to run me out. So now, I hardly have any patients after the fucking asshole hired a new doctor as my ‘partner.’” The sound of plastic ripping filled the empty space as I slid my tongue across my lips. She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble on about shit that you don’t care about.”

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to get out of here like you’d wanted,” I quietly replied, ignoring the sting of her words.

She scoffed. “I don’t have anything to numb you up, so I hope your pain tolerance has grown since you left.”

“Mrs. Dupre says that it’s just your family and mine who haven’t sold to this bigwig rich asshole,” I continued, once again ignoring her sharp comment.

“And you care why? So you can feel like you did something good swooping in at the last minute to save the day?” A needle pierced through my skin as I slowly closed my eyes and faked a wince.

“Cher, I’m not trying to swoop in.”

She worked the needle to the other side of the wound, and metal clicked gently against metal as she carefully tied off the first stitch. “No? Not looking to play hero? So, you’re still the same coward who ran away. You’re still that soft boy who always needed me to throw the punch, to fight, when it mattered. You always had to have someone else get their hands dirty for you. You always needed me to keep you safe.”

“I know,” I quietly muttered.

I still needed her. Every day out on that battlefield, I’d needed her. She’d kept my head from going under, and I wasn’t going to pretend like she wasn’t the reason I’d had the chance to come home.

“What’d you say?” she asked as she tied off another stitch.

“I said you’re right,” I replied through gritted teeth, pretending to be in pain, and looked down at her.

Her hands stilled as her mouth fell open. Slowly, her gaze lifted to mine. “You’ve never conceded so easily before. At least not to me in a verbal conversation, which we had a lot growing up.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

Her teeth slid across her bottom lip as she quickly pulled her gaze from me. “Ford, it’s been fifteen years. I have a life that…that hasn’t involved you. I moved on. I just…It’s nice to see you, but just…yeah…” Her voice trailed off as she returned her focus to the stitches.

I should’ve felt something a bit more like heartbreak, but honestly, after fifteen years, after confirming a few years later that she’d ended up safe, I’d prepared myself for this. Instead, my heart seemed blindly numb. Or at least I pretended it felt that way. All of the anguish, all of the anger and sadness, I locked away in a little box and shoved it to the corner of my mind—like I did with everything. It didn’t matter what was going on in the world, or who I had just buried, the pain and grief had to get buried in a small container and pushed to the side. That was where control existed. That was the only way I didn’t lose myself.

“I hope you’ve been happy, Cher. That’s all I wanted for you,” I admitted cordially while lying to her. I’d seen her. Four years after leaving, I’d returned to see her, to make sure she was safe and protected, and she’d looked happy, so I’d left and planned to never return.

She hadn’t seen me during my brief visit. Which had been on purpose. No one had known I’d come back because there was no need to change the course of everyone else’s lives.

She sucked in a sharp breath of air, sliding the needle through my leg again. “It seems you handle pain a bit better. Only a tiny bit. How many superficial cuts did you get while we were out exploring as kids and you’d wail like a banshee every time?”

A pained smile slid across my face. “Maybe I pretended to be more hurt than usual because it got yourattention.”

She clicked her tongue as she tied off another stitch. “So, whose attention have you been vying for these past fifteen years?”

“You say that like you didn’t do the same shit to me,” I replied with a small smirk.

“Fair point. I guess I pretended to be a little clumsy every now and then.” I watched as she tied off the final stitch and sat back against her heels. Her brows creased together, and she lifted her green eyes from my wound. “I do recall you used to be a bit squeamish about blood, though. I was the one that had to gut the gators when we needed them for the restaurants.”

I chuckled. “Ah, the famous excuse to spend time together.”

“Remember when Derek nearly caught us literally rocking the boat?” She giggled.

“What was your excuse again when your cousin said he’d go tattle on us?” I cocked a brow as she rolled her eyes and removed the gloves from her hands.

“We don’t need to bring that up again.”

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