Chapter 21 #2
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some guy on the bike glance over like he wished we’d lower our voices before the breakthrough therapy hit him by association.
Jess ignored him. “You’ve seemed more engaged the last few sessions,” she added, tapping something into her tablet. “Less staring at the ceiling like you’re making a grocery list while I talk. Are you getting out more? Seeing people?”
I cleared my throat, fighting the heat crawling up the back of my neck. I didn’t want to lie to Jess. “Just . . . winter chores,” I said. “Stuff around the house.”
Jess’s mouth twitched like she’d heard exactly how full of shit that was. “Well, whatever ‘stuff’ is, it’s working. Your gait’s smoother. Your reflexes on the balance board were better than last time. You even talked more than five words today.”
“Careful,” I said. “You’re going to ruin your hard-ass reputation if you start complimenting people.”
She snorted. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m about to kick your ass on the stairs. Then you’ll remember you hate me.”
She wasn’t wrong—the stairs sucked.
The problem was simple.
What I’d been doing was letting Clara Darling into my house and my head and my hands. Letting her drag me down hills and kissing her breathless in the snow.
The last thing I needed was permission to want more of that.
I made it almost all the way back through town before the universe decided to pile on.
Snow flurried lazily across the windshield as I rolled past the hardware store and the coffee place, heading for the turn that would take me back to the house. My leg ached in that used way Jess would’ve been proud of. My brain still hummed with Clara.
Which was exactly when I saw Hayes.
He was in front of the coffee shop, standing by his truck with his arms spread, coat half unzipped, shirt absolutely drenched down the front. Steam rose off the splatter on the snow at his boots. His truck door was hanging open, cab light on, keys nowhere in sight.
Of course.
I slowed automatically, taking in the picture—Hayes glowering at the sky like it had personally wronged him, coffee dripping off the brim of his hat, one glove in the slush at his feet.
I rolled the window down. “You lose a fight with a latte?”
He cut me a look, his scowl deep. “Black ice. The cup went flying. Took the hit like a champ.” He glanced down at himself. “My dignity did not.”
A laugh punched out of me, quick and unplanned. “Are you planning to stand here and steam until spring?”
He sighed, long suffering, and kicked at the snow like it had started it. “Keys slid under the truck somewhere. I’m gonna be late to my meeting.” He jerked his chin toward my passenger door. “You offering or just heckling?”
“Get in, dumbass.”
He rounded the front of the truck, boots sliding once on the packed snow, hands pinwheeling before he caught himself on my hood.
There was a sweatshirt crumpled on the back seat. “There’s a clean one back there,” I said as he climbed in, already peeling his wet jacket off.
He twisted, grabbed the sweatshirt, and hauled it over his head, shucking the soaked shirt in the process. The cab filled with the familiar scent of coffee and sawdust and the guy who’d had my back since we were two idiots with learner’s permits.
“Appreciate it,” he muttered, dragging the hem down and raking a hand through his hair. “It’s been a shit morning.”
“Shocking,” I deadpanned, pulling away from the curb. Everything Hayes touched turned to chaos. “Should’ve seen it coming when you left the house.”
He huffed, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Speaking of leaving the house . . .” His tone shifted. “How’s she doing? Clara. She settled in okay?”
My grip on the wheel tightened.
You mean: How’s the little sister I had my tongue in two hours ago while pretending it’s me doing her the favor?
“She’s fine,” I said too quickly. I forced my shoulders to loosen, eyes on the road. “Already reorganized my kitchen and put marching orders on the fridge.”
He snorted. “Sounds about right.”
I needed a way out of this conversation—and fast. “She, uh . . . has some photo shoot thing she’s planning at the farm. A bridal something-or-other. Looks like she’s got it handled.”
Hayes nodded, jaw working once like something in that eased a knot I couldn’t see. “Yeah. That tracks. She always lands on her feet.” He stared out at the snow-slick road, then blew out a breath. “I’m really glad she’s with you, man.”
The words settled like cement in the cab.
“I trust you,” he added.
My stomach dropped.
He didn’t say it like a big thing. No dramatic pause or meaningful stare. Just a simple fact tossed into the air between us, like it weighed nothing. Like it wasn’t currently lodging in my gut like shrapnel.
I trust you. To keep her safe. To give her a soft place to land. To not drag her into the wreckage.
“She needed somewhere solid after . . . everything.” He shrugged, eyes cutting over to me. “And you’re solid.”
I swallowed once, hard, the lie of that scraping all the way down.
I’d kissed his sister in the snow and wanted to do it again so badly my hands shook.
I’d pressed her down into me like she belonged there.
I was currently thinking more about the way she’d whimpered into my mouth than thirty years of friendship.
“Yeah,” I said, voice rough. “I know.”
For a few beats the only sound was the engine and the hiss of tires on packed snow. Hayes settled back in the seat, oblivious, trusting, already scrolling through his phone to text whomever he was late meeting.
I stared straight ahead, jaw tight, a decision slotting into place like a beam locking into a frame.
Whatever this thing was with Clara—whatever it could be—I didn’t get to lean into it. Not with him sitting next to me saying he trusted me. Not with her still getting her feet under her. Not when my own life was one bad day away from unraveling.
I cleared my throat, forcing my voice into something that sounded almost normal. “Where to?”