Page 5 of Choosing a Forever
Today has really gone to shit, and I’m ready to go home and cry in the bathtub with a pint of cookie dough ice cream smothered in hot fudge.
The daywasgoing fine. Another tedious day in a long line of tedious days.
I work from home as a bid desk specialist for a tech company. I spend my days clicking “copy and paste” to send quotes for companies wanting to buy bulk products. I hate it, and it doesn't pay enough, so I work as a bartender part-time as well. Unfortunately, trying to find a job in Utah when you’re heavily tattooed and don’t have a college degree means your options are limited. Usually, I try not to work night shifts at the bar, but my manager needed me to fill in.
The twins are old enough to be home alone, but my best friend, Lizzie, was able to hang out with them tonight, so I don’t feel as guilty about leaving them.
Except now, I have to ask Lizzie to take me to work and pick me up because some dumbass wasn’t paying attention and rear ended the SUV behind me, which sent it into my car. Now I have a flat tire, and the suspension might have issues. I couldn’t hear the tow truck guy explaining what was wrong with it over the rapid racing of my pulse.
I sure as hell hope it’s only the flat tire and nothing more serious, or I have no idea what I’ll do. My budget doesn’t have the wiggle room for a car payment, and I don’t have the savings to buy one in cash.
My entire body is vibrating with anxiety. My heart rate hasn’t slowed since I felt the jolt of a car hitting my bumper, and even though it’s hella cold outside, I can’t feel it with the adrenaline coursing through me.
I’m lucky it’s just a fender bender, but my nervous system can’t tell the difference between a minor inconvenience and a catastrophic accident.
Thanks, PTSD.
I’m an overly cautious driver after what happened to my parents. I’m never on my phone unless it’s to use my maps app. I try to avoid driving in the snow or heavy rain, and if I’ve had a single sip of alcohol, I refuse to get behind the wheel. I avoid being around semi-trucks if possible, and I never run red lights.
Apparently, not everyone is as cautious as I am. The guy behind me admitted he was on his phone to the officer at the scene, and if he hadn’t been distracted, he would have noticed the brake lights.
Just as I finish going over my statement with the officer, I hear a voice I’d know anywhere—one I’ve heard in my dreams—and a tap on my shoulder diverts my attention. Shivers—not from the cold—zip up my spine as I mentally steel myself for the inevitable blast from the past. A blast I’m in no way prepared for.
Sure enough, I turn around, and there he is. TalmagefuckingMonson. My first real love, my first shattering heartbreak, and the one guy I’ve never really gotten over—not that anyone knows besides Lizzie.
God, if you exist, fuck you very much.
I didn’t even know he was still in Utah. Last I heard, he was in California about to get married. I stopped checking in on social media when he announced his engagement because… well, life sucks enough as it is, and I didn’t need to see the man I’ve been secretly pining after for thirteen years living his best life with a woman who looks like a model.
He looks the same, but different. I can’t tell under the coat of his uniform, but I’ve seen enough firefighters on social media to infer his body has bulked up a bit since we were in high school. His blonde mustache is neatly trimmed, and even though it should be off-putting—I’veneverfound a mustache attractive—it actually makes my knees weak. His hair is faded on the sides and slightly longer on the top, neatly gelled away from his face. His blue eyes are still kind, but right now they’re swirling with too many emotions to name.
I realize I still haven’t answered when someone walks behind him, and he steps closer. I instinctually take a step back and almost fall into a small hole on the side of the road.
Strong hands grip my forearms and keep me from tipping over, and I mutter a quiet, “Thanks.”
He steps back and removes his hands like I’ve burned him, and my heart sinks. It seems nothing’s changed since we graduated.
“Where’s your coat?” He looks around at all the people surrounding us.
“It’s in my car.” I wasn’t thinking about grabbing my coat when I got out right after the accident.
He nods, then nods again. “Do you have someone you can call to come get you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Well, yeah. You should do that. Call them, I mean. You should get out of the cold. I don’t want you to get sick or something. Pneumonia or bronchitis would be terrible to deal with, not to mention the air quality isn’t great today.”
“Okay…” I don’t know why he’s rambling like he’s nervous. The boy I knew in high school didn’t get nervous. It’s barely less than thirty degrees, I’m not going to get sick from it.
“You need to get checked out by the paramedics. Make sure you’re not hurt or anything,” Talmage suggests, nodding over the ambulance.
“I’m fine, I promise. My neck hurts a little but—”
“Then you should absolutely get it checked! We want to be sure you don’t have whiplash or a sprain. It’s protocol, really. They should have checked you out already or have you on the way to the hospital.”
“I really need to get to work,” I argue. I don’t have time to be checked over, and Idefinitelydon’t have the time to go to the hospital. I swivel my head left to right and move it up and down. “I’m fine, see?”
“Please, just… for my peace of mind?” Talmage’s blue eyes burn with what seems to be genuine concern.
