Chapter 13 A Dull Ache
A Dull Ache
JAMIE
When I’d seen Sarah from the street, a painful warmth had run over my skin.
She wore jeans and a puffy pink coat, and her dirty blond hair was twisted over her shoulder in a thick waterfall.
I didn’t see her dressed casually like this very often.
It felt intimate. So did swinging by her apartment building.
Not to mention lying awake in bed last night thinking of being in a hotel with her, even if our rooms were several floors apart, like I’d requested.
Then I’d seen that she hadn’t been alone, and nearly bent my steering wheel into a taco.
“Hello, Jamie,” Sarah said coolly.
My eyes jerked to the kid. Who the hell was he? A boyfriend? He looked a little young for her. Late twenties maybe.
The irony of that thought wasn’t lost on me.
Still, Sarah deserved a man, not a boy. I gave him a once-over. He blanched but recovered quickly, giving me a nod and a smile. “Hello.”
I didn’t even have time to ignore him, because Sarah planted her hands on her hips and said, “What are you doing here, Jamie?”
The cold had made her skin so pale the freckles across her nose seemed to pop. But it had turned her cheeks a delicious shade of pink, too. She kept her expression guarded; her soft, slightly squared jaw tense; straight brown brows slanted.
“Those aren’t snow tires,” I said.
She blinked. I could see the anger flaming behind those pretty pale brown eyes. It was still jarring when she looked at me these days, mostly because her most common expression for me was vitriol.
As it should be.
“Yes, they are,” she said. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
I shouldn’t have come. This was supremely stupid. I should have been on the highway, minding my own goddamned business.
This morning, I’d sat in my warm truck, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
The dash clock said 7:32 a.m. I’d had a six-hour drive ahead of me, and I’d planned on leaving at 7:30 sharp.
But there I was, my appointed time gone, sitting with a scowl on my face and a knot in my belly, thinking about Sarah.
I knew what kind of car she drove. I kept picturing it in a ditch, Sarah trapped inside, blue from cold. Or worse.
I shuddered even at the fake memory. I could live with her hating me. I had ten more years of it before I could retire to my cabin I was building in the woods outside Quince Valley. But I couldn’t live with her in trouble.
This whole morning was the story of my goddamned life.
I stepped out of my truck, my feet crunching in the snow. “I wanted to make sure your vehicle was prepped for a couple hundred miles of winter driving.”
Sarah blinked as if she was confused by what I’d said. No wonder—when was the last time I’d shown concern for her, besides throwing her a last-minute invite to the conference?
Hell, when was the last time we’d even had a proper conversation outside of the bare minimum at work?
Not counting that moment in her office a few months back.
But I wasn’t going to think about that. I’d focus instead on the matter at hand. Like how Sarah was staring at me with a flat expression, her jaw tight.
Because of me. Always because of me.
I shoved the guilt, which had mostly dulled to a low ache at this point, into the depths of my brain.
She folded her arms. “Thanks, but I can handle a bit of snow.”
“Those tires can’t.”
“They’re all-weather tires,” she said defensively. “That includes snow.”
“It doesn’t.”
I could see she wanted to snap back at me, but her eyes darted to the kid, who seemed to be bouncing on the toes of his winter boots.
“Shit. Jamie, this is Sam Caplin.”
The kid, to be fair, was a grown man. Sort of. He was maybe in his late twenties, lean and a little over average height—six feet or just under. But I could still see the top of his head.
“Great to meet you, sir.” He thrust out his hand. “I’m a big fan.” Then he cringed as if he thought that was a stupid thing to say.
It was. I wasn’t a goddamned celebrity.
“Looks like we’re all headed to the same place,” he said cheerily.
He was the only one smiling.
Something about the name Caplin sounded familiar. The kid looked familiar, too. But I couldn’t place him. And frankly, I didn’t care. All I could think about was them driving in that truck together, laughing. Snuggling.
I gripped his hand, giving him a two-pump shake that made his knuckles crack.
I grimaced. I hadn’t meant to do that. It wasn’t the kid’s fault I was a bastard.
He winced, but recovered quickly enough.
Sarah, luckily, didn’t notice any of this. She was too busy looking at me like I was an idiot. “Sam is Cora’s brother.”
The resemblance to our receptionist was suddenly obvious. I grunted, even as relief slid over me, loosening the tight muscles in my shoulders. Not a boyfriend. Hopefully.
I turned back to her car. “You’re not driving to Maine on those tires, Sarah.”
Her cheeks grew pink again. I had to look away.
I knew how I sounded. But I didn’t care. She needed to be safe.
“The hell I’m not.” Sarah jutted her chin, displaying that mole I’d stared at a thousand times in meetings or on job sites. In photos and—
“And it’s high time we all hit the road,” she continued. “Don’t you think?”
Sarah didn’t wait for a response. She just got in her car and slammed the door behind her. She hesitated, and I held my breath. But when she rolled her window down, she didn’t look at me. “Sam, drop my name at the registration table tomorrow. Hopefully it’ll help you get bumped up on the list.”
Sam nodded, glancing at me. Was he expecting me to lose it or something? Because I wasn’t going to. But I sure as shit was going to tail her the whole damn way to Maine.
Sarah started her engine, and to my surprise, the tires held on the snowy pavement as she pulled out of her parking spot. Both the kid and I watched as she navigated her car toward the exit.
And both the kid and I flinched as, a moment later, the car made a bang as loud as a shotgun, dark gray smoke billowing from under the hood.
I didn’t like how my first thought wasn’t concern for her car. But relief.
That is, until I saw her face.