Maybe This Summer (Colorado Ice #2.5)(9)

But seeing her mother’s strength against her verbal and sometimes physical attacks had oddly enough given her the strength to fight to get her life back, and over time she’d let her mother in.

But only her mother.

And certainly not some stranger who had a way of seeing too much when he looked at her. Certainly not a handsome, successful man she’d Googled while waiting for Dr. Madsen. She’d been hoping to discover something she could use to justify canceling their date. A criminal record or something.

Unfortunately, she’d learned he was a Marine who’d been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his bravery in saving a fellow soldier overseas, resulting in the loss of sight in one eye. The thought that because of his own accident, he might have the smallest understanding of what she was going through put him firmly on top of the list of men she’d rather not date.

Connecting on any level with a man right now was not in her plans.

So why she couldn’t bring herself to dial his number and make up an excuse for not going through with their drink date, she didn’t know. Unfortunately, while her brain was fully on board with her no-men rule, her body was betraying her. It had been forever since she’d been with a man—Paul being her last six years ago—and she was starting to really miss the intimacy.

Six years. Damn, she was practically a nun.

An image of Owen’s biceps and chest muscles staining against the fabric of his faded Avalanche logo shirt at the DMV flashed in her mind. If she had to choose someone to break her dry spell, he’d top the list.

She forced several deep breaths. It was just a drink. One drink then she’d have paid her debt to him.

Who knows—maybe he’ll be stuck at the DMV all evening.

“My receptionist told me you were in here, but I have to say, I had my doubts,” the doctor said, entering a moment later.

“I couldn’t get the window pried open,” she mumbled.

“So, you’ve reviewed all of the procedure information?”

Over and over before each surgery. She nodded.

“And you’ve reached out to your support group?” He sat behind his desk and put on his bifocal glasses. “Talked to some of them about how you’re feeling trying this again?”

Of course not. She nodded.

“That was a lie, but moving on…” he said with a sigh. “We have an open slot for the procedure for July twenty-first.”

The day after the golf tournament. “July is busy with the celebrity charity event and getting the applications approved for the burn camp in August…”

He folded his hands and sat quietly as she rattled off the list of reasons that date wouldn’t work. “And then of course the real reason—you’re terrified of attempting this process again, getting your hopes up for positive results and knowing that, either way, you have to get on with living your life.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. That wasn’t it, was it? She wasn’t holding on to her scars as a form of protection. She’d heard her support group leader say that was often the case…and her psychologist had suggested that she might suffer from what she’d referred to as “victim’s security”—an unwillingness to make things better for fear of having to live again. Nope. That wasn’t her. She was just busy in July. “Is there anything after July? August? September would be better.”

He didn’t even check the schedule. “Nope.”

“Doctor Madsen, I want this procedure,” At least a part of her did. Right? “But…”

“Nope. No buts. I’m scheduling you in for July twenty-first, and it’s completely your choice if you show up, Paige,” he said, entering the information on his tablet.

Immediately her phone chimed with a new email that she suspected was her appointment confirmation. Damn. Would she show up? For six years she’d gone through with them, out of hope at first, then more out of obligation, but when was enough enough? “Okay,” she said as she stood. “Thank you, Dr. Madsen.”

The decision was weeks away. Right now, she had to decide whether or not she was going to show up for tonight’s date.

*



The Breezeway Bar was quiet at five thirty, as the after-work crowd had yet to wander in, and Owen made his way to his usual booth at the back. This was where he was meeting Olivia and Ben and his blind date later that evening, so it seemed like the logical place to meet Paige. He didn’t expect their drink to take long. He suspected she’d guzzle a glass of wine, refuse to let him pay, and take off within twenty minutes.

If she showed at all.

He’d barely had time to get home and shower and change after two more hours at the DMV, and his still-damp hair fell into his face as he set his jacket into the booth. Then he headed to the bar. He was nervous, and a beer would help take the edge off, help him relax a little until she arrived at their six o’clock scheduled time.

He shook his head. Six o’clock. Earliest drink date in history. Might as well be a platonic day date. “Hey, Ricky,” he greeted the owner of the bar, stocking bottles of alcohol for the evening.

“Hey, man—the usual?”

He nodded.

“You solo tonight?”

He shook his head. “Actually I’ve double-booked dates for this evening,” he said, accepting the beer.