“I’m not Macho level trainer, but I would be happy to help you.”
She looks down at Turner, then says, “And he can stay with you sometimes too. So Turner can have time with him?”
My heart is pounding. This dumb ass dog is giving me something I didn’t know I needed. An attachment to Maeve. “I’d love that,” I say. “He would too.”
Turner heard my answer and deciphered the question on his own, because now he’s crying tears of happiness as he hugs the dog.
“Well, Macho man, looks like you sold us a dog.”
“Your money is no good here. No selling, just gifting him to you.” He looks at the large Roman numeral clock on the wall. “Get out of here, it’s time for dinner. The main building tonight, in the nice dining room. I’ll keep Chonk in a run on this side to keep him away from the training noise. Come visit him any time before you leave. Leashes are on the back wall.”
As we’re walking back to the main building, Maeve is so happy I can see her megawatt smile from my peripheral, and Turner is talking nonstop about playing fetch with the dog all day long when we get back home. He comes up between us and says, “Hey Maevey, do you remember the first day? My first appointment? You asked me what my favorite memory is.”
The smile fades from her face and is replaced with a stoic concern. She’s flipping back into doctor mode. I see it happen. That’s one of her superpowers, I note. “Of course. You and your dad fishing. It sounded like a great day.”
“That’s not my favorite memory anymore. Today is.” Turner takes my hand and Maeve’s at the same time. “This is the best day of my life.”
Maeve chokes up, I can see her fighting back tears, and if she knew the riot of emotions that one sentence just caused, she’d run far, far away. I’m sure of it. My fears realized in one statement from my son. The intangible thing I can’t give him. The hole I’m unable to fill. The soul-searing guilt for something absent in his life I had no control over.
Maeve stops walking and stoops down to get on Turner’s level, releasing my hand. “You know what’s funny about that? Today has been the best day of my life, too.”
I don’t know if she means it, or if she’s saying it to make a child happy, but this is the moment I tear completely open and fall—fully and completely, undeniably, in love, with Maeve Ahearn. When the pang hits, I know without a shadow of doubt, that this is the real reason I didn’t want to involve Turner. I knew attachment would follow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAEVE
I watch, leaning on the doorframe that connects our suites, as Lincoln tucks Turner into a king-size bed. My own suite was one of the prerequisites for me joining them on this trip. Which is sort of a moot point because the main, really important requirement was that Lincoln and I keep things professional. The past two days have been anything but. The lines have blurred between patient and doctor so much that it would be near impossible to go back from here.
My heart races as I turn to head back into my room and flop on the bed. Hard conversations need to be had, and after today’s roller coaster of emotions with Turner, I know it’s not going to be easy. I aim the remote at the television and turn it off. It was on for mere noise distraction when I came back here after dinner. I hear Lincoln’s voice lull into a smooth cadence and realize he’s telling him a bedtime story. I can’t hear the words, but the tone is enough to coat my nerves with a salve. I unlock my phone and scroll for a new message from Aria. There’s nothing new, only that she was looking into more family members through her contact. I haven’t told anyone about the discovery yet. It feels like it’s something I should keep for myself, at least for a little bit.
Ramona texted while we were eating dinner, so I take this time to give her the lowdown. Ultimately, she wants to know every detail about my day, including any intercourse that may or may not have happened. Very purposefully I leave out everything regarding Lincoln and tell her that horse riding isn’t going to be my competitive sport anytime soon. I send the message just as Lincoln peers into my room from his. When I smile, he props open the door separating our rooms with a decorative bed pillow.
“Can’t close it all the way,” he explains.
“You wouldn’t need to for… anything,” I say, patting the bed next to me.
He inhales deeply. “Sitting next to you on the bed isn’t nothing.” Lincoln sits down and grabs my calf. I’m sitting crisscross. “He’s asleep. Hansel and Gretel puts him straight to dreamland.”
“That book gave me nightmares as a child, and it lulls him to sleep?” I laugh. “What did you want to talk about?” My throat feels dry, and his body heat seeping into my oxygen supply does nothing for my willpower.
His brows furrow as he presses his lips together in a stern look. “Ladies first,” he replies, squeezing my leg once. “What I have to talk about depends fully on your thoughts.”
I rest my hand on top of his and a lump crawls up my throat. “I’ve been lying to myself.” My stomach flips as I meet his gaze. “Lincoln, I don’t think I can do this.”
His eyes drop to our hands and his shoulders slump. “I thought
