Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,300

meet with me, and he’d be thrilled if I could buy him out. “Let me talk to the bank,” he said. “I’ll explain the situation, get the numbers, and we can sit down sometime this week.”

“Sounds good,” I agreed. “But don’t say anything to Pete and Georgia yet. I don’t want to get their hopes up.”

My first therapy session was painful, but I’d promised myself I was going to be honest. For the first time, I told him how I really felt about Steph’s death, the way it was connected to the incident in Iraq in my mind, and how that guilt had prevented me from moving on. While he couldn’t ease my conscience completely, he did give me some strategies for coping with my feelings and dealing with the guilt, and urged me to use the meds to get more sleep.

He also told me about a weekly group therapy session for Veterans that he’d organized within the last year, and I began attending them. Hearing others talk about their feelings, tell their stories, admit to struggling with guilt and anxiety just like I did made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Sometimes I didn’t even talk at those sessions, and that was OK too.

Cleaning out the cabin was tougher. I got through it with Pete and Georgia’s help, by remembering Steph’s wish to be set free, and by watching Cooper play with Bridget Jones while we worked. But it wasn’t easy or quick. We worked Wednesday evening and throughout the day Thursday. There were moments I choked up, moments I teared up, moments I had to walk outside and take a few deep breaths. Even so, there was no uncertainty. I knew in my heart I was doing the right thing.

On Thursday night, Suzanne came by, and her eyes misted when she saw the bags and boxes in the front room. “You really did it,” she said, putting a hand over her heart.

“I had to,” I said quietly, but firmly.

Her eyes scanned the room. “You took down the pictures. Why?”

“Because they were making it too difficult to move on with my life, Suzanne.” I met her eyes directly, and noticed she didn’t appear to resemble Steph quite so closely tonight. It was a relief.

“Oh.” She trailed the fingers of one hand along a box. “Are you moving on with that blond woman?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Sorry,” she said meekly. “It’s just hard this week.”

Sympathy softened my tone. “I know. But she wouldn’t want us to sit around and grieve her again. She’d want us to celebrate her life by moving on with our own.”

She nodded sadly. “My mother wants everything, but she was too upset to come.”

“I’ll help you load it. I’ve got a four wheeler here, and we can take it to your car.”

“OK.” Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I really am sorry about what I said. You’re right. Steph would want us to move on. I just miss her, and it helps to think that you miss her like I do.”

“Apology accepted. And it’s OK to miss her, Suzanne. I miss her too. But it took me a long time to get where I am now, and I like thinking she’d be proud of me for that.”

“She would be. I’m sure of it.” Suzanne sniffed, and then laughed a little through her tears. “She was a much nicer person than me.”

Three weeks after she’d gone home, I was ready to apologize to Margot and ask for another chance, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. An apology over the phone wasn’t the same as coming face to face with someone and asking their forgiveness. Admitting you’d been wrong. Putting yourself out there. If I was going to ask for a second chance, I needed to do it in person.

But how? What could I say that would convince her to see me again without giving myself away? All day Friday I thought about it, trying to come up with something romantic and clever—but romantic and clever had never been my thing. I needed help.

Swallowing my pride, I went to Georgia.

She grinned. “I’m not sure what you should do, but I know someone we can ask.” Scooping up her phone from the counter, she tapped the screen a few times. My own phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out.

She’d shared a contact with me. “Jaime Owen?” I asked. “Who’s that?”

“It’s Margot’s close friend and business partner. Call her.”

I frowned. Involve another woman in this? “I’m