Is this man for real? He visits my sister in the hospital, he doesn’t freak out when my hot ex-boyfriend shows up acting like a proprietary asshole, and he fixes dinner for me without me having to ask.

When I stand so he can get dinner ready, I take my first look around his house. This is the house he lived in with his wife and the high I was riding only seconds ago slips away when I look around. The décor is nice and cozy, with a woman’s touch. Not the look a bachelor pad has.

My guess is he hasn’t changed one single thing since his wife lived here. That wouldn’t be a problem because really, it is a nice place. The issue comes in when I look around and find her staring back at me from every wall and flat surface. There are pictures of them and her all over the living room and I’m guessing in the picture frames that appear to line the hallway too. It’s like she could walk in the door any minute and resume her life with him.

My gut clenches tight. I feel like I’m the other woman. What if there are pictures like this in their room? There’s no way I can have sex with him here if that’s the case. It’s already going to be a little weird sleeping in a bed that was so obviously hers.

What the hell do I do? I mean, she’s dead and not really a threat. Is it fair to say something about this since I’m so uncomfortable with it? He didn’t even freak out when Curtis showed up at the hospital and had his arm around me, and I know it upset him. Is it okay for me to comment on a woman who has no hope of walking back through the door? She is clearly the one who stole his heart, the one who made him never want to look at another woman. He’s like Jeff is with Shaunda, except his one and only died and left him to find a second choice who will clearly never live up to what he had with her.

Holy shit, how do I get myself into these situations? The better question is, how do I get myself out? I’m already head over heels for this man, knee deep in what feels like love, something I never thought I’d feel again after that asshole left me. Glancing around the space he calls home, though, it’s clear there’s no room for me because it’s already inhabited by a ghost.

If I go into their room and her shit is still in the closet and drawers I’ll know that I don’t belong here. If it’s just the pictures, then I’ll work around them for a little while.

“Hey, I’m gonna snoop around a little. Your home is beautiful.”

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be about 10 more minutes,” he calls back to me.

I venture down the hall and peek into the bathroom. Neutral color décor—not too manly, not too girly. The next room is obviously an office, and although there are several pictures of them around the space it’s clearly used for his work. The first room on the right is a guest room and looks like it’s been closed up for a while. The second room on the right stops me in my tracks completely.

The buttercream-yellow walls with white trim are perfect for a nursery. A changing table is sitting against one wall while a crib sits along another. A few stuffed animals rest in the wooden rocking chair in the corner and it’s obvious this room has never been used. The questions whirl in my head like a tornado. Did he have a child die too? He never mentioned a baby. Was there just hope for one? Was she pregnant at some point? It seems strange that she’s been gone for several years and a room like this still exists. Do I ask about this now or do I wait? Is he sensitive about these things? God, how did I end up involved with a guy who clearly longs for a life and family he no longer has?

Five minutes ago, I never would have guessed I’d be standing in the hallway of his house reeling with the knowledge that he’s still living in a past that’s dead. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about it.

I close the door quietly, because I don’t want to be found in this room. I’m not ready to tackle a heavy subject with him tonight. Dealing with my sister and her family is enough for me right now. I cross the hall to the only remaining door and step inside. It’s a large bedroom that clearly looks like a couple lives here, not a single man, and once again there are pictures on the dresser and the walls of them separate and together. I’m drowning in his life with her. There is no way I can stay here tonight, but how do I get out of it without having an important conversation? This house makes me feel like I’m the other woman, pretending to be the wife until the real wife comes home.

I knew it was a possibility that he’s not over her yet; hell, I met him while he was visiting her grave. But because he never talks about her to me I assumed he was in a better place with his grief than he clearly is. We need to have a conversation about her and them and his feelings, but there is no way in hell it’s happening tonight. I can’t do it. I have enough tough stuff in my own life without lumping this on right away. Maybe when my sister is better and goes back home we can talk, but for tonight…I have to get out of here.

Maybe I can come up with a good way to slip out after we eat.

As quietly as I can I back out of his room and return to the kitchen where he’s working on dinner. He grips my hips and lifts me up to rest on the counter while he finishes preparations. With a dish towel tossed over his shoulder he bends down and pulls the chicken from the oven, resting it on top of the stove.

“We need to let it cool for a few minutes. Glass of wine?” The corner of his mouth kicks up slightly and I’m reminded of what brought me here in the first place. Not only is he thoughtful but he’s handsome and adorable all at once. I could use the entire bottle of wine, considering his wife is watching this whole date unfold. It’s terribly awkward and he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Colby?” he asks, snapping me out of my thought process.

“Do you have beer?”

Now he flashes a full-blown smile. “Of course.”

He reaches into the fridge, pulls out a bottle of beer and unscrews the top using the lower part of his shirt, and then passes it to me.

I take an extra-long swig and look at him. Physical perfection.

“Want to help me set the table?” he asks.

I nod so he helps me down and we set the table. Afterward he turns on music to play softly in the background. We fill up our plates and take them to our seats. The food is amazing and the tender way he’s watching me melts my heart. Maybe he’s just never touched anything around here because he doesn’t know what to do with it all. Maybe there’s an explanation for this museum of Carol. I’d love to hear why there is a nursery ready and waiting down the hall.

“So, how long until you travel for the monster truck gig?” he asks, breaking my train of thought.

“We start back up in a little less than a month.”

“Are you excited? Is it something you still enjoy?”

“Who wouldn’t? Driving a big ole truck over cars and racing around a dirt track? Then having tons of kids run up to get your autograph? Their little eyes light up and their excitement is catchy. It makes me feel good. I like being a positive role model for them.”

“I can’t wait to go and watch. I’ve never been to one before. I’ve seen clips on the internet and television, but I’ve never been to a live show. When I was looking you up online I found dozens of fan pages dedicated to the sport and several just for you. It was kind of weird to think there are a bunch of kids, and probably grown men too, out there with your picture hanging in their bedroom.”

“It did take a little bit of time to get used to, but I don’t let it go to my head. I just enjoy it for what it is. Fun. Although the season can be hectic and tiring, it’s still a good time.”

We finish dinner with small talk and a few laughs and he refuses to let me clean up. We migrate to the couch and it doesn’t take long for us to slip into a more physical state of relations. I love this with him. His big warm body. The strength he radiates, the inner calm he portrays even when his heart is racing under my palms. When he pauses just to look at me, the hooded expression is enough to melt me. Those piercing eyes could stop a polar bear in its tracks. They’re amazing.

“I wish you had half a clue how beautiful I think you are. Words just don’t seem to cut it,” he tells me.

“I feel the same about you.”

He lowers his head, planting a tender kiss on my forehead, then down to my cheekbone, trailing his nose down my cheek to the sensitive place behind my ear. Goose bumps rise and my body reacts, arching against him, almost begging for more. I’m ready to claw his clothes off when I open my eyes again to find a picture of his dead wife staring back at me. That’s like tossing ice water all over me. She was beautiful, but having her discerning eyes staring at me while I make out hot and heavy with her husband is too much for me. I push him off of me and my heart constricts a little when I catch his look of confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

I don’t know what it is, probably that I don’t want to get into it tonight. I really don’t want to hear that he’s still in love with her or even some lame excuse.

“I can’t go any further tonight. I need to get home and get some sleep. I have a long day tomorrow and if we keep going I’ll be here like this until daylight. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have even come over.”

He sits all the way up, his eyebrows still pulled together. He knows I’m lying but I’m not going to say any different right now.

“Okay, I won’t push you. If you want to stay and just go to sleep, we can do that instead.”

“No way!” I blurt out, probably too harshly. I soften a bit and add, “I know I can’t keep my hands off you. I understand my limits so I’d better go.” I glance over at Carol’s picture—one of the many—slip my shoes back on and stand. I move toward the door quickly so I don’t change my mind, grabbing my stuff as I go.

“Are you sure everything is okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Yeah, I just know I have no self-control with you and I need to go. Thank you so much for dinner. It was awesome. I’ll see you soon.”

I slip out the door with a quick peck to his lips and practically sprint to my car. God, I’m such an idiot. Why don’t I face this head on and talk to him about her? I know why. I don’t want to hear what I think is the truth. He’s still in love with her. I can’t compete with a ghost and I’m far too fragile to find out right now that he can’t let go. So, I’m going to act like a high school girl and run instead of communicate.

* * *

It’s been three days since I was at Victor’s house and I miss him. I want to hear his voice, want to talk to him and tell him the good news that my sister is back home and doing well, tell him that business at the shop has been good and we’re all putting in overtime to cover for Jeff being out. Most of all I want to see him and feel his arms wrapped around me. There is a safe feeling that comes with the closeness of Victor. I don’t know if it’s his calm demeanor or if it’s his quiet manner or whatever it is, I miss it. I think I’ll call him tonight when I get home. He’s texted a few times and left me a voicemail once but I’ve been busy and effectively avoiding him. I did send a text back telling him I’m swamped, but that was as far as that went.

I’ve just finished up my last brake job of the day for a woman who came in after she got off work. Everyone else went home for the night except my dad who is doing an oil change. I check the lady out, straighten up the front desk and start turning out lights inside the office when I hear a weird sound come from the shop, like a crash of metal, not like the normal clanging of metal. What the hell? I cross the room quickly and head into the shop.

“Pop, what was that noise?” I call out to him.

No response. That’s weird.

“Pop!” I say a little louder as I continue moving to where he’s working. I’m about to yell again when I see his boot sticking out from behind the tire of the car he was working on, and it’s obvious he’s on the floor. I sprint over and find his eyes open but unfocused, and blood soaking his hair as it pools on the ground by his head. He must have hit the concrete or the toolbox when he fell.

“Pop!” I screech, scrambling to get to him on the floor. I shake him hard. “Pop! Answer me!” There’s no response so I check his neck for a pulse and can’t find it. My heart is pounding so hard I swear it could crack my ribs. My adrenaline has kicked up so high that I feel like I’m in hyperdrive. I yank my phone out of my pocket and dial 911, put it on speaker, and drop it next to me.

When the 911 operator answers, I spit out all the information as I know it. Then I start CPR with her still on the phone. There’s no response from him. He doesn’t even twitch. Holy shit. How did I end up giving my father CPR?

A banging on the door snaps me out of my panic. “Ma’am, the paramedics are there. You need to open the door,” the 911 operator tells me.

I jump up and run for the door I locked only a few minutes ago and fling it open. Victor is standing there looking bewildered with several large men and one short woman behind him.

“Colby, are you okay?”

“No! It’s my pop!”

Victor rushes past me, followed by the paramedics.

“In the shop, on the floor.”

“Fuck!” I hear him shout.

Within seconds, there is a flurry of activity as two of the paramedics work on him. Victor comes back and wraps me in his arms, not saying a word. We stay like that for a couple minutes while they push on my pop’s chest and load him onto the gurney.

“How long has he been like this?” Victor asks me.

“I heard a crash about 15 minutes ago and came running out. He was on the ground and his head was bleeding and he wasn’t talking. I tried CPR,” I tell him. The scene is already foggy in my memory. I know what happened, but it feels like it was happening to someone else.

“I know you did. You did everything right,” he says against my hair. “They’re going to load him up. I’ll drive and we can follow them to the hospital. You can call your brother and Jeff to let them know so they can meet us there. Okay?”

My chin quivers as I ask, “What if he doesn’t make it?”

“Don’t think like that until they’ve had a chance to try everything, okay? Come on, let’s get ready to lock up and follow them. Grab your purse.”

I follow his instructions and watch as they push the gurney into the ambulance with grim expressions.

“Colby, go get in the car. I’ll find out where they’re taking him in case we get separated.”

I don’t respond; I just do as I’m told. The numbness is setting in and I think my adrenaline is dying down.

He reaches the paramedic as he’s shutting the door, while the two people inside continue to work on my pop. The driver looks at me as he talks and finally Victor turns my way and jogs back to the car.

He slides into his seat and fires up the car without a word. We follow the ambulance down through town until we reach the ER. Jeff is calling his neighbor to come stay with the kids while he brings Shaunda up to the hospital and my brother says he’ll be there in five minutes.

By the time we park and get through the doors my brother is coming in behind us. I explain to the lady at the desk who I am and she nods, passing me paperwork to fill out. Why do they always give you paperwork that requires thinking when you’re in the middle of a crisis? Seems like they would wait and approach when things calm down so you could answer with some level of accuracy.

I sit down and do my best to fill out the information but my hand is shaking and I can’t seem to concentrate on the words.

“Colby, give me the paperwork. You can tell me the answers and I’ll fill it out, okay?”

The sound of his voice draws my attention and soothes me enough to finally pass him the clipboard.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

The next 10 minutes are spent with him asking questions and writing. Just as he’s turning it in to the lady at the desk, Jeff and Shaunda rush in. She’s all bundled up and pale but looking as wild-eyed as I feel with all of this. Our family has always been close. Mom and Pop have always been our foundation and when Mom died we only grew tighter, but that was because we had my pop. Steady, strong and levelheaded. That’s always been my dad. What if we don’t have that anymore?

Half an hour later, a doctor is summoning us to the side. My whole body is numb as I wait to hear of my dad’s fate. Victor wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close, holding me steady.

The doctor’s tired eyes should tell me everything without words, but I need them. For this to be true, I need to hear him say it out loud.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Averette is dead. We did everything we could, but he was already gone when he arrived here. I suspect he had a massive heart attack and was gone before he hit the floor. I’m sorry.” The doctor continues to talk, but I don’t hear anything except the sound of my sister crying uncontrollably. That foggy state of numbness I was starting to feel at the shop when the paramedics were working on my dad is so much worse now and I can’t find my way out of it. Victor ushers me and my sister out of the building while Jeff and Marshall take care of whatever remains.