Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
The cell phone buzzed against the hood of the Chevy, but Rush ignored it. One glance at the screen told him enough.
Grant. Again.
Shit. He wiped his hands on a rag and fitted the oil cap back into place with more care than necessary.
He didn’t know how many years this truck had in it, but he wasn’t about to rush the end.
The old Chevy had history—she’d chauffeured his mom when she was a teenager, taught him how to drive, carried him around in between deployments when the world still felt sharp around the edges.
Pop had handed him the keys when he came home from overseas, gruff as usual but with pride shining in his eyes, and Rush had promised he’d take care of her.
It wasn’t a hard promise to keep. The truck was the one thing that didn’t ask more from him than he could give.
He loved the routine—changing her oil in the garage, washing her down in the summer heat, listening to the low, steady rumble that said she wasn’t done yet.
The green-and-white paint had faded to an ancient patina, but she still purred to life better than any other truck he’d driven.
Boston didn’t have anything like this. Boston was anonymity, another body in a suit collecting a paycheck. Here he was somebody’s grandson, a brother, a sheriff, a lover.
His phone buzzed again, and this time he picked it up. He had to. Whenever he didn’t, his sisters showed up on his doorstep.
With a resigned sigh, he answered.
Two grainy faces filled the screen.
“There he is!” Sarah sang, jabbing a finger at the camera. “I bet five bucks you’d hit the asshole button.”
“You look tired,” Rachel said, frowning. “Are you still not sleeping?”
“I bet I know why you’re tired,” Sarah said, a smirk in her voice. “A certain jilted hostess at Maple and Main told me you’ve got a new lady.”
“Did you get that paper written yet?” Rush asked pointedly. The last time they’d talked, he’d driven out to Buffalo to bring her groceries because she’d claimed she was too busy studying for finals to eat. He hadn’t bought it then, but he hadn’t minded either. He missed the girls.
“Yep,” she said breezily. “Now quit dodging. Who’s Lily, and when do we get to meet her?”
She was relentless.
“Nobody,” he said, guilt pricking him as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Liar,” Sarah shot back. “You haven’t dated anyone seriously since that chick who worked in Rochester—the one with the killer shoes. Blake?”
“Oh,” Rachel said, frowning. “I remember her. You two were a disaster.”
“Drop it,” he muttered. He lowered the Chevy’s hood gently and whistled for Riggs. The dog bounded up from the snow, tennis ball clamped in his jaw, tail wagging like he was ready for another hour of fetch. Rush gave him a good, solid pat. “Not now, boy. We already played.”
Besides, he had plans tonight.
“Look, girls, I’ve got to go—”
“It’s Saturday night. Why do you have to get off the phone so quick?” Sarah pushed her face close to the screen and then squealed. “You’re going out with her tonight! Oh my God, you so like her!”
“He totally does,” Rachel chimed in. “When can we meet her?”
“Did you two forget I’m moving to Boston in less than two months?” His voice came out sharper than he had intended. “No, you can’t meet her. And no, it’s not serious.”
“Fine.” Sarah looked disappointed. “We were just excited, that’s all. You never let us be excited for you.”
“Love you, Rush,” Rachel said, more gently. “We’ll see you Sunday at Pop’s, right?”
“Love you both. See you Sunday,” Rush said.
Rush ended the call before they could push further.
He shoved the phone in his pocket and headed inside to get ready because, yeah, he did have a date with Lily tonight, not that he’d admit that to his sisters.
He didn’t need them involved, and he didn’t need Lily dragged into their lives either.
Not when he was already halfway out the door.
He gave the Chevy one last pat and headed inside with Riggs on his heels.
The house felt more bare than it had last week.
He’d hauled another load of stuff to the donation center, but the Christmas tree was still in the corner.
For reasons he didn’t care to explain, he turned the damn thing on every night when he came home. Tonight was no different.
He tugged off his sweatshirt and tossed it over a chair then stepped into the bathroom and cranked the shower on full blast. He scrubbed his body, then shaved and messed around with his hair until he caught himself and barked out a laugh.
Since when did he care? He shoved on a thick winter hat and called it good enough.
They were going to Candlelight Night, Northfield’s annual winter festival on Main Street.
Crowds, carolers, the whole town out. The kind of thing that made his skin itch.
Normally, he’d steer clear unless he was on patrol, but Lily wanted to go, and he was growing very invested in making Lily happy.
Hell, he didn’t think about much else lately.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her on his lap on the couch, curls spilling around her shoulders, playing peekaboo with those gorgeous breasts like she didn’t know she was driving him out of his mind.
She’d been a trembling mix of nerves and mischief, and he hadn’t been able to get enough.
The way she looked at him—wide-eyed when he said something filthy, or dazed and then sleepy when he made her come hard enough to shake.
Christ, she was addictive.
So damn responsive it floored him. Every gasp, every needy little sound she couldn’t hold back made him want to push further, to show her something new.
She’d been shy at first, and tentative, but the second he pressed, she’d leaned in and wanted more.
Even when things got rougher than she was used to, she still wanted more.
It shook him, that kind of trust.
He had no business taking it. Not when he had less than two months before Boston pulled him out of here for good. When he left, she’d be alone again, chasing those farmhouse-and-babies-on-the-porch dreams with someone else.
A flood of something he hadn’t felt in years surged through him—ugly, hot, and impossible to ignore. Jealousy.
Rush swore under his breath and shoved the thought down hard. He didn’t have the right to be jealous. That wasn’t part of this deal with Lily.
But what if it could be?
He shoved that thought away even faster.
By the time he pulled the Chevy onto a side street near Main, he had himself fully locked down again.