The bleached, stale smell, the glaring white lights, the scuffed ivory linoleum floors, the dusty green walls. Clinical and depressing. When he’d hurt his foot, he couldn’t wait to get out. He felt the same way now.Besides, best to put distance and time between him and Libby as soon as possible. It wasn’t going to end well, but it was certainly going to end.For a brief moment it had seemed they’d reached a mutually satisfying understanding. She would stay on, live at his house, hopefully commuting to a new job in Denver. He’d hit the road and start on the circuit, trying to salvage his ranking. There would be several times he’d be able to make it home between events. For once in his life, he’d have had something to look forward to and someone to come home to.But it seemed he was going to be denied even that little bit of happiness. And by the same man who had irretrievably altered his life once before. Only this time, it wasn’t Sam Brennan’s fault. It was no one’s fault.
