October 16

I guess I’ll blame Owen for my current fucked-up state of mind. He’s the one who asked me to go with him to New Moon while Dayna was out with her sister, and if we hadn’t gone there, I never would have run into Callaway. The thing is, I was also happy as hell to see her, after almost three weeks. At least, until I realized she had a guy at her table that seemed into her. Not that I can blame him. Jesus, she looked gorgeous with her hair kind of half-up/half down, big hoop earrings, white blouse and jeans. Jeans that fit her ass perfectly. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and that turned out to be a good thing after that drunk idiot followed her to the bathroom. After I got rid of him, I had all I could do not to back her up against the wall and show her how much I’d missed her. Luckily, I came to my senses.

Owen further fucked things up by being too goddamned observant. He was watching me watch Callaway sitting with that dude and called me on it. “Deck...are you jealous?” And then he kept shaking his head, looking all pleased with himself and telling me buddy, you got it bad.

The fucker. I tried to brush it off, but his comments were shaking me up, enough that when I got back to my place, I tossed and turned all night, even after jacking off. I couldn’t even escape with that, because the only woman I imagined was Callaway.

So I rolled over and pulled open my nightstand drawer, where some pathetic fuck stashed a photo of a girl he can’t seem to shake. Moved it from the coffee table so he could feel like she was with him when he slept. Pitiful. Inside my chest there was this feeling of something twisting, and I actually was stressed out that my father’s cardiac genes were making their debut. I stared at her picture and discovered that a person could feel both calmed and wrecked at the same time. Looked at every millimeter of that photo, including the stack of rocks. What was it she’d called it? Cairn. It came to me that she’d told me I should research it, and I still hadn’t.

So I did. What the hell else am I going to do at 2 a.m.?

Cairn: a human-made pile or stack of stones (knew that much). A small breed of terrier with short legs and a shaggy coat. Pretty sure that was Toto. The word “cairn” is Gaelic for “heap of stones.” Apparently, Norse sailors used them before there were lighthouses to help them navigate through the Norwegian fjords. Some people use them as a way to say “I was here,” and they might have spiritual significance. A cairn is a pile of rocks, sometimes set along paths by hikers. They don’t name the trail or point in any direction; they mark the path.

And then I get into some other explanations that kind of hit me—make me think too much, and I wonder if Callaway even knows this info. Maybe that’s why she had me look it up. I don’t know, but the jabs to my chest kicked into high gear, and it was a while before I could settle myself back down.

I’m somehow able to grab a little bit of sleep before morning and the chest pains subside, but the cairn info and the woman who told me to find it stayed with me, all the way through the final touches on the closet renovation I did today in Blue Hill. So much so that at 5:00, after a quick stop at the grocery store to grab a bouquet of wildflowers, I end up on Newbury Neck Road, pulling into her driveway and wondering what the fuck I’m doing.

Seriously. What. The fuck.

Yet here I sit, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to her that would make any sense after I basically brushed her off at New Moon last night. Probably best to just start out simple—like telling her I was thinking we could go out sometime.

It’s starting to get dark. I can see the silhouette of her cat in the living room window, like he’s watching me in my truck. I never thought of myself as a cat person, but I’ve missed that little dude.

I’m contemplating whether or not to let myself inside since I know her security code when two bright headlights pop into my sideview mirror. My heart starts to hammer, a steady, escalating beat just shy of panic. Jesus. Was this the right move?

Too late now. The headlights behind me make me squint as I step out of my pickup holding the sleeve of flowers. As the lights dim and shut off, I can see the vehicle is a silver BMW—not Callaway’s car, unless maybe she got a new one.

The driver’s side door opens. A guy gets out and starts walking toward me. Decent-looking, about 5’10”, neatly-combed brown hair. Wearing an expensive-looking, long coat and dress shoes.

And carrying a huge bouquet of red roses.

His expression is a mixture of suspicious and pissed. My fingers clench around the stems of the flowers as he flicks his eyes over me. His upper lip starts to curl, but I can see in his eyes that he’s uneasy. Most likely because of my size. I’m glad he’s on edge. I am, too, but I’m not about to show it. Already, I can’t stand him...he’s giving off the pompous prick vibe like it’s his cologne.

The roses. That’s what’s getting me the most. I’m starting to realize that showing up here was one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.

He speaks first. “Who are you?”

“Jack Decker.”

“How do you know Madeline?”

Nosy bastard. If you want to know the truth, buddy, I know her inside and out—literally. I know her mouth, her hands, her breasts, the sweet folds between her legs. I know the freckles on her nose and the little mole on her belly, just above her navel. And she knows me the same way. “I’m her carpenter. Decker Renovation.”

He nods, his face relaxing a bit, but his eyes are still glittering and hard. “I didn’t realize carpenters brought flowers to their clients.”

I arrange my lips in a big grin. I’m not going to let this prick, whoever he thinks he is, get the best of me. “They don’t, usually. But Madeline’s special.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

And then I know, even without him saying anything, who he is.

He confirms it. “I was married to her.” He steps his feet apart on the tar, widening his stance a little like he’s ready to take me on. “We’ve been in frequent contact lately. In fact, she invited me over tonight.”

Invited him?

“Madeline and I have a lot to talk about. I’m looking forward to spending more and more time with her.”

The bunch of flowers feels like a dead weight in my hand—similar to how my heart feels in my chest. I’ve heard enough.

I won’t give this asshole the satisfaction of a response. I turn around and get into my truck, tossing the flowers on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Her ex has left me enough room to back out. My blood is sizzling in my veins. The only reason I don’t go screeching out of the driveway is because I don’t want him to know what his words did to me. Anger, pain, humiliation—they’re all banging around inside of me, climbing one over the other till I feel like I’m going to explode. I’ve got a death grip on the steering wheel, and my fingers don’t loosen up till I’m off Newbury Neck. Fucking idiot, thinking I should just show up at her house. Everything about this night feels wrong—especially the possibility that the dirt-bag ex-husband will end up with her.

But I can’t control that. I need to look at what I can control. Like viewing this as a sign that I should just let this go for good. Meaning permanently, instead of this waffling back and forth I’ve been doing.

I know one thing that will help me get that done.

I reach for my phone on the seat next to me, glance down to thumb through my contacts and make a call.

“Jackson.” My father sounds surprised to hear from me.

“Hello, Dad. I’ve made up my mind about the Concord position. If your offer’s still open...” I swallow hard, the words like pieces of cold metal in my mouth.

“...I’ll take it.”