Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

We’re both exhausted and sweaty when we finally make it back to the Hawthorne property about an hour after we left our truck on the highway. The back half of our journey was a lot quieter than how it started.

I think Murphy was lost in her thoughts about LA, and I was wrapped up in thinking about the reasons I left Chicago.

“I’d like to go take a shower,” Murphy says as we reach the end of the long drive that leads to their house from the road. “But I can drive you back out to the truck to change the tire if you give me about a half hour?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it, Murphy. I can get one of the grounds crew to help me out. Or your brothers.”

She considers me for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well … Thanks for the chat.” Her eyes glimmer in the sunlight, and she seems to have a little more spirit than she did on the last part of the walk. “You’re really easy to talk to.”

I grin at her. “Make sure you call your insurance and see if I’m in your network. These therapy sessions aren’t free, you know.”

She laughs, and I relish the sound. But I can see the cloud of whatever is on her mind still lingering, and I wish there was something I could do to help.

“Have a good afternoon, Wes,” she says with a little wave.

“Later, Murph.”

I watch her as she heads through her front door, wishing there was something I could do to pull her out of the weird headspace.

But with nothing immediate and curative coming to mind, I turn to head on up the path, hoping to bump into someone who can help me load a spare tire and take me back to the truck.

Eventually, I find Naomi jumping onto the ATV at the end of one of the vines, and she gives me and a new tire a lift. But the tire replacement takes longer than I expect, and by the time I’ve returned to the property and get the produce put away, I’ve missed dinner. So I trudge out to my cabin and take a shower, eager to rinse off the sweat and grime from the day.

As I stand under the water, letting the heat pound down on my body, I think back to everything that happened, starting with our conversation in the car.

It didn’t surprise me that Murphy asked about where my head was after we fooled around in the kitchen on Sunday evening. But it was surprising how talking to her about it made it seem more manageable. Like having her know that I’m concerned about my job has now released me from solving the problem of my attraction to her on my own.

And maybe that’s why I love talking to Murphy so damn much.

I thought it was easy earlier, as if having simple conversation and some good laughs were the highlights.

But that’s not it at all.

I love talking to Murphy because it feels like we’re both coming to the table with heavy burdens, excess baggage on our shoulders, and sharing some of that with each other takes away some of the stress, even a little bit of the pain.

It’s not that things with Murphy are easy. It’s that simply being around Murphy makes things easier.

I’ve heard it said before, but trauma bonds people. I’ve always assumed it needed to be a shared trauma. But really, it’s just the ability to look at the other person and acknowledge that you’ve both been through some really hard times.

Because you can look at the other person and know you’re not alone.

That night, I get a text from Murphy. Her name popping up on my screen sends a surprising shot of excitement through me.

Murphy: Any chance you’re heading to the bench tonight?

I’d been planning to go for a walk, absolutely. I don’t think I’ve gone a single night here when I haven’t taken advantage of the wide-open space to clear my head, but the added appeal of getting to bump into Murphy has definitely changed the way I anticipate that time.

I try not to reprimand myself for how quickly I respond. My desire to see her and spend more moments together isn’t something I’m willing to address just yet.

Me: Yeah. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.

A thumbs-up bubble shows up in the corner of my message, and I set my phone down to search my cabin for a clean pair of socks.

Ten minutes later, I’ve got my shoes on, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. For the first time, Murphy is already there when I arrive, and I can’t help the way my chest swells when I see her eyes brighten at my approach.