20
HUDSON
Nine days after I punched the wall, my hand still wasn’t back to normal. I had trouble grasping a chainsaw, so I left that work to my employees. Raking up the smaller s**t from the trees falling to break apart on the ground proved easier, and I popped on my headphones to block out the noise and set to my task.
Too often, my mind wandered to the dark-haired carpenter I’d sent away. Longing deep inside me to touch, to taste, to connect continued to mess with my brain. But I couldn’t relent. Couldn’t allow the walls I’d built around my heart to lower.
I’d experienced hurt almost my entire life by not being given love from the two people who should have. Having Peter looking at me like I was his hero, his savior, had knitted together parts of my soul my parents had ignored. His b
