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Which was bullshit, if you asked me.

I'd spent a week and a half working myself into an early grave, hoping physical exhaustion would accomplish what whiskey, denial, and sheer stubbornness hadn't.

For the record, it wasn't working.

I'd replaced three sections of fencing that hadn't needed replacing, rebuilt the feed room shelves, and fixed every squeaky hinge on the property. The ranch had never looked better. I, on the other hand, looked like something the dog had dragged home and then decided wasn't worth eating.

But tomorrow, I’d go back to pretending I had my shit together and try to evict Mikayla from my heart and head, where she’d taken up permanent residence. Because she was leaving. Today. In a couple of hours, she was getting on a plane and flying back to her life. The one that didn't include me.

I drove another nail into the board with enough force to make my shoulder protest.

"Planning on murdering that fence, or are you just torturing it?"

I didn't bother turning around. "Morning, Dylan."

"You know, most people deal with their feelings by talking about them."

"Most people don’t take therapy advice from someone who used to eat crayons."

"Fair point."

I reached for another nail. I could feel my brother’s gaze boring into the back of my head. I ignored it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"About what?"

"Don't be an asshole."

"Then stop asking stupid questions."

He sighed. "She's leaving, Damon. Today. She’s on her way to the airport."

My hammer stopped halfway to the board. As if I needed reminding. As if I hadn't spent every waking minute thinking about the exact moment she'd climb onto that plane and disappear from my life.

"Yep," I said.

"That's it? Just yep?"

I glanced over my shoulder. "What do you want me to do, Dylan? Throw myself in front of the plane?"

"It’s not the worst idea." He paused for a moment. “Or you could stand on the runway with signs, like the guy in Love Actually when he showed up at Kiera Knightley’s door.”

“Sure. And my signs would say my brother needs to mind his own damn business."

He grinned.

I went back to hammering. But Dylan wasn't finished. Because God forbid anyone in this family recognize when a man wanted to be left alone.

My mom had practically been my shadow the past ten days. Everywhere I was, she was right behind me. Asking me how I was feeling. If I’d spoken to Mikayla. Telling me when she was leaving and how much she liked her. I’d done my best to keep my patience with her, because she is my mom. I feared my brother was not going to get the same courtesy.

"You love her," he said as if it was something profound.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"And you're just gonna let her go?"

Something ugly twisted in my chest. I set the hammer down. "Tell you what, Dyl. I'll worry about Mikayla when you do something about Dani."