Read Online Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance by Jasinda Wilder - Free Book Online Page B

I refused to speak to her.
    Immature? Yeah.
    But I don’t know how to deal with any of this. I don’t know how to deal with the fact that she kept me alive when I specifically indicated the opposite.
    I don’t know how to deal with being alive.  
    I don’t know how to fucking deal.
    After the transplant, I remained in the hospital for two weeks and then spent the following three months in transitional care at the Mayo Clinic, enduring biopsies, lung function tests, EKGs, and echocardiograms. When it was all over, the team of doctors told me my body had successfully accepted the new heart. On hearing that news, I went back to Mom’s house in LA, packed my shit and headed north.
    Dad kept a property in Humboldt County, way north. A tiny little house, comparatively speaking. Only three thousand square feet, worth maybe five mil, in a remote little town called Trinidad. Compared to the castle in Beverly Hills and the sprawling estate in Franklin, it’s nothing. But when Dad died, he left it to me. I think he knew I’d need this place someday. Maybe he meant for me to come up here to die.
    It’s mine, but I haven’t been up here in years. I spent a week or so up here after I graduated high school, while I was waiting for the Vagabond to be finished, but I haven’t been back since. There’s a caretaker, of course, a local old guy with not much to do but swing by and check on things. His wife dusts from time to time and keeps the place clean and the cupboards stocked with non-perishable food. I called him after I left the Mayo Clinic, had him open it up, stock the fridge, shit like that.  
    God, it’s gorgeous up here. The house is on a bluff overlooking the ocean and there are views from every room. There’s a forest behind and the village of Trinidad spread out below. Eureka is even visible in the distance on a clear day. I park my brand-new truck in the driveway, step out and stand on the running board, stare at the house and look over at the rippling, winking blue ocean in the distance. I inhale the clean, clear air.  
    I say new truck, because I sold the Vagabond . I also sold the Pagani.
    Jesus, I sold the Pagani. That car was Dad’s baby, and the Vagabond was mine. I packed all my shit—clothes, a couple cases of Lagavulin, a kayak, a stand-up paddleboard, and my climbing gear. That’s my life, and it all fits in the back of a tricked-out F-250 King Ranch.  
    I figured, I’m starting over. I’m moving up here to Humboldt County, for one thing, and Humboldt is rugged and wild, which means a Pagani Zonda isn’t exactly practical. I brought everything with me, because I don’t know what I’m doing, where I’m going, where I’ll end up. I’ll probably stay here in Trinidad for a while, but I don’t think I’ll be here forever.
    Truth is, I don’t know what to do with myself.
    I’ve lived my entire life certain I’d never make it past thirty-one. Well, here I am, thirty-one, and alive. With everything in front of me.
    And I’m scared shitless.
    Confused.
    Paralyzed, really.
    Gregor, the caretaker, is in the backyard, putting a coat of finish on the deck railing. He hears me come around the corner, turns, can of finish in one hand, brush in the other. Gray hair, blue eyes, and wrinkled, weathered skin. Friendly smile. “Mr. Montgomery. So glad to see you, sir.”  
    “Call me Lock. Things all set, Gregor?”
    He nods, goes back to applying the finish. “Sure is. Just putting some of this on the deck, since the paint was peeling a little. The missus got everything cleaned for you, and we stocked up the fridge. Lots of fresh produce, steaks and fish, all of it local. You should be all set, but you got my number if you need anything.”  
    “Thanks, Gregor. I think I’ll be good.”  
    He swipes the paintbrush a few more times, then pauses, and glances at me. “Gotta say, Lock, it’s good to see you. Real good. I never thought—” he cuts off, unsure how to finish.
    I take mercy on him.