a reason to live(41)
“Yes,” I agreed. “But he’s pushed me away. I don’t think he’ll let me help him.”
“A woman’s any woman at all, she digs her feet in and fights for what she wants.”
“But how do I fight when I’m the problem?”
“You gotta pull from that place in your gut that feeds you when you think you can’t go on. You use it to fight, to guide you, to sustain you when you think you can’t handle one more thing, and then you hand it to Shane to guide him out of the darkness.”
“I’m worried he can’t be helped,” I admitted.
“Nonsense. Shane’s born from the same mountain stock as Max. They don’t lie down easily. They’re strong, courageous—albeit stubborn to the core—warriors. He’s been injured, broken even, but he’s made of sterner stuff. He just needs a reason to fight back the darkness, and that’s where you come in.”
“But how? Do I follow him around and get in his face?”
“Nope. It’s easier with men like Max and Shane. He’ll come to you.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Shane wants you. Which means he won’t want anyone else to have you. Eventually, the need to claim you will weaken his defenses and then he’ll open his eyes.”
“If you’re saying I should flirt with other men, then the answer is no. I won’t play—”
“Goodness, no. That’s distasteful and unbecoming of a real woman. Just don’t leave Trails End. Put yourself out there so he is forced to deal with you, is all I’m saying. Conduct yourself like always, and no matter what he says, brush it off. Don’t run from the fight, stay and fight. He’ll see that you’re made of sterner stuff just like him and can bear the weight of his darkness. When he sees that, he’ll fall.”
“But I have fought and it seems to have made no difference.”
“Oh, it’s chipped away at some of his armor. But he’s got a stubborn streak the likes I’ve never seen. Dig deep, Sage. Square your shoulders and show him you can handle anything he throws at you. By doing that, you’re giving him your strength to let go and move forward.”
“Give him my strength? . . . I can do that. I’ll start tomorrow,” I agreed, then wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug.
“I’m thinking tonight. Say, eight, at Last Call.”
“That soon?”
“No time like the present.”
“All right. Any more wisdom you want to impart to me before tonight?”
“Yeah,” she replied with a sly grin pulling across her lips. “Wear something green, low cut, and leave your hair down.”
“Isn’t that playing games?”
“Nope. You’re just working with what your mama gave you.”
***
You could have found love so profound it stopped time in the face of it—that’s what I would have given to you if you’d been brave enough to try.
Shane closed his eyes and attempted to block out Sage’s words. Whiskey wasn’t easing the hard edge that had set in since she’d confronted him.
He was sitting at the end of the bar at Last Call, and everyone was giving him a wide berth. Max and Mia were at a table with Maxine, talking in whispers as they kept an eye on him. Tapping the bar with his finger, he watched Ralph Potter fill his shot glass again. Then he threw it back.
“That’s your fourth,” Ralph pointed out. “Either you eat somethin’ or give me the keys to your truck.”
Shane stood and pulled the keys from his pocket, dropping them on the bar, then tapped it again and waited. He saw Ralph look over his shoulder at Max and gritted his jaw.
“Are you pourin’ or turnin’ into a mother hen?”
Ralph locked eyes with Shane, his brows pulled down in concern, then he lifted the bottle and filled his glass.
“Obliged,” Shane muttered.
He lifted the shot and got it halfway to his mouth when a hand stilled its assent. Shane didn’t have to look to know it was Max. No one had a hand that big.
“You want something, Max?”
“I want you to pull your head out of your ass.”
Shane shrugged off his hand and threw back the whiskey, praying the burn would take his mind off his trouble for the millisecond it took to make its way to his gut. He was determined to get good and drunk.
“Did you pull your head out of your ass when your father died?” Shane asked without inflection.
“No,” Max answered, ignoring the punch to the gut that always came when he thought of his father’s death.
“Then what makes you think I can, Max?”
“There’s a difference, Shane.”