It’s coming up on a month since I left the ranch. I’m making myself count the days. I count them, so I’ll know how long it’s been since I’ve heard from Nixon. It’s the best way to keep my rage fueled. It’s the best way not to allow myself to forget that he lied to me, that he used me like every other man in my life, and that I’m better off without him. Nixon wanted me sexually from day one. He didn’t try to hide that. I just shouldn’t have given it to him. He got what he wanted, and I got a broken heart. That’s why I gave up any hope for him. Now, the only hope I’m clinging to is the hope that my fury will one day burn away my love.

I’ve thrown myself into work, focusing day and night on ways to improve Tumbleweeds. Exclusive manufacturers, top designers, better selection—my vision for the store grows by the minute. I keep waiting for the enthusiasm to grow as well, but it hasn’t. I know what the problem is. My heart hasn’t yet caught up to what my head knows. It hasn’t bought into the rage yet. It’s still wallowing, wallowing in long looks and steamy kisses and the kind of passion that digs deep and doesn’t want to let go. But it will catch up. My heart will realize soon enough that my best chance forward is to hate him and move on. I refuse to give up until it does. Some part of me knows that if I don’t get past this soon, I’ll never recover. And that’s just unacceptable.

I’m holding tight to my resolve when I hear the gentle purring sound of my phone’s ring tone. I left it in the living room. It stops ringing by the time I get to it, so I hit the home button to check for messages.

My heart stops.

I recognize the number. As much as I’d like to forget it, I haven’t. Not yet anyway.

It’s Nixon.

But why would he be calling? It’s been weeks without a peep from him. Why now?

My first thought is that something is wrong, that there’s been an accident at the ranch or something has happened to a member of my family and no one can get away to call. But before my pulse can bump up to breakneck speed, my rational side kicks in and reminds me that the odds of that being the case are astronomical. This is the age of cell phones and all kinds of virtual communication. The mere idea that not one of them would be able to reach me is almost laughable. And if that’s the case, that must mean that Nixon is calling for another reason.

As I’m staring at the phone, I see a tiny red one pop up beside my voicemail box. It’s the number of new voice mails.

I didn’t listen to his others. I knew I couldn’t bare it. I doubt I can now, but when I go to delete it, my finger trembles. It hovers over the button, but I can’t seem to press it.

I gasp when, before I’m even fully aware of doing it, my finger taps the play button. A beat later and Nixon’s voice is oozing out of the speaker and into my ears.

“Haley, uh, it’s Nixon. I don’t know if you’ll even listen to this, but I’m leaving it anyway. I can’t… I don’t…” He pauses to sigh. “I just have to try, I guess. I want to start with I’m sorry. Because I am. I’m sorry that I let you down, that I wasn’t the man you needed me to be. I couldn’t see it then. I couldn’t understand why you were so upset, but I want you to know I see it now. I see how someone could’ve hurt you enough to cast a shadow on everyone and everything around you. I understand that more than I can explain. And I…I wish I could go back. If I could, I’d do things differently. I know you probably won’t believe that, but it’s true. Haley, I—” His voice stops and the line goes silent for so long, I think he might’ve gotten cut off. But then, like the rasp of velvet, it scratches through the air again. Through the air and straight into my heart. “Please. I don’t know how else I can get through to you except that one word. Please. Please, Haley. Call me back.”

When his voice disappears this time, it never comes back on. The silence drags on for almost a full minute, like he’s there on the other end, waiting. But then I hear a click and a beep, and I know he’s really gone this time.

I sit back, stunned. Stunned and happy and heartsick and confused. Oh, God, how I want to believe him! I want so much to trust him, to run back into his arms and know that he won’t hurt me. But I can’t. He’s already given me reason to doubt him. Giving in at this point would be insane.

I sit back and stare at my phone. My hand twitches several times as I reach to tap the play button again. The longer I stare at it with his voice still fresh in my mind, the more I regret listening to it in the first place.

My soul aches with want, with betrayal, with hopelessness. I fight the sting behind my eyes as long as I can, but then I just give in and let the tears come. I feel myself fall back to square one, back to the stage when the weight of the pain felt like it was crushing my bones. This is why I didn’t listen to his other messages. I can’t let him in this way, not even a crack. He will rip my world and my heart wide open if I do.