Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Noel
The weather during February and March pelts my mental health. It's gloomy and rainy. My shoes are always muddy, and we don't see the sun for two weeks straight.
SADD, seasonal affective disorder depression, sets in, saps my energy. My mind borders the condition it was in post-accident. With the shitty weather, I'm isolated on campus. Music is my only saving grace. For a while, I'm booked twice a night every weekend.
But music can only do so much.
When I'm alone, I'm engrossed in memories. Even when I'm sleeping. I don't suffer from nightmares—those are expected. I can deal with them.
What I can't handle are the dreams. The ones that show me alternative routes. Ones driven by bravery and the ability to stand up to my father. In the end, the survivor doesn't have to deal with fatalities. Or pain. That family is still living the lives they deserve.
Those are the worst. They make me realize what I took away. How much I took away.
Shaking my head, I chew on the eraser of my pencil, glancing down at my notes.
We're five minutes into class. Kinsley still isn't here. This is the first time I've beaten her to class. Usually I'm the one who's late. When I walked in, it was weird to see the table void of Kinsley's notebooks and coloured pens.
I continue to chew on the eraser as I glance around the classroom. Convincing myself she's sick of me and sat at the back of the class would be easy... If I hadn't already looked around the classroom.
While the professor drones on and on about today's lesson, I try to take detailed notes. Half my mind is focused on the whiteboard. The other is wondering where Kinsley is.
Twenty minutes later, she arrives. She mumbles her apologies to the professor as she scurries across the classroom. Within no time, she's shrugging off her army style jacket and unloading her books next to me.
I side-eye her, fighting off a smirk. Cole will never believe Kinsley was late to class.
After she's unloaded the contents of her backpack, I poke her in the arm with my pencil. "Forget to set your alarm?" I whisper.
She shoots me an annoyed glare, gesturing to the whiteboard. My eyes flick to the whiteboard, where nothing has been written for a few minutes now. The professor is droning on and on about a specific topic. If she doesn't write anything on the board, it's not important.
I turn back to Kinsley, cocking an eyebrow.
Her light, cyan-blue eyes glimmer with something fierce. She looks like she's ready to throttle me.
"She's lecturing," I note. Sarcasm bleeds from my voice. "I'm not stupid."
"Yes," Kinsley nods. "And you're not paying attention."
