19. Ian
19
IAN
Sarah is hiding something from me.
I don't know what it is, but if she's putting this much effort into keeping it away from me then I don't even want to know how big the news is.
She lowers her voice to speak to her aunt, but I hear her loud and clear.
“Did they find her?”
Her who?
Her mother?
I could have sworn she was dead. But then again, I thought her father was dead, too, but he’s alive though on the verge of death. What if her mother is alive, too?
Her features relax at whatever her aunt tells her, and she lets out a sigh of relief. She cradles her phone against her head, a thoughtful look on her face.
“I'm coming back home,” she says into the phone.
That has me sitting upright. She can't travel alone with the media going crazy over her. It's not safe.
“No, Auntie. Listen. I'm safer over there. Ian will drive me, okay? Don't worry.”
I don't know when I volunteered to drive her, but it makes me happy that she believes I'll keep her safe.
She speaks for a few more minutes with her aunt, then she ends the call and fixes me with a stern look.
“Don't ask anything,” she says with a pleading look.
“Well, that's a difficult thing to ask of me, especially as you're making me your personal chauffeur without my knowledge. I need to know if I'm going to be an accomplice in a crime.”
“Really?”
“I was joking. Jeez.”
She rolls her eyes at me and then stands, holding her bag up.
“Are we leaving now?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she responds with a pointed look.
Oh boy. There are so many things I want to ask her, but the look on her face tells me nothing I say will make her tell me anything.
Well, I guess I'll just have to trust her. I know she wouldn't do anything illegal or make me an accomplice to any crime.
What am I even saying? She's an author. What could she possibly be involved in that would be incriminating?
I'm overthinking this whole thing, right?
So, while she's not telling me everything, I'm sure she has a good reason for that. I'm hoping.
Shaking my head. I walk back into my kitchen and turn off the gas switch. I go through the house and ensure every electrical appliance is unplugged. When I'm certain everything is in good shape, I pick up my truck key from the center table and go to open the door.
“We'll need to get gas on the way,” I say, hoping she'll get the message.
“I’ll cover it,” she responds. And I nod. Guess I'm going back to Glazer Ville.
The four-hour drive to Glazer Ville isn’t only an awkward one, but it’s also tense.
Sarah is restless, and nothing I say or do makes it better. Occasionally, I joke to distract her from whatever is bothering her, but the distraction only works for a few minutes before she’s back to sulking.
After a couple of attempts, I stop trying and instead focus on the drive.
It's not easy going back to the town for me, especially how I left things the last time with my aunt's lawyer.
I think of reaching out to him, but I immediately discard the thought. I'm not going to the town because I want to. It's because I have to.
Sarah needs me, and I'll be there for her however long it takes.
When we get to the town, Sarah directs me on how to get to her aunt's place. Soon, we're pulling up in front of the brown-painted bungalow, and I kill the truck's engine.
Sheila is out of the house before we even get out of the car, and she welcomes us warmly. Well, she welcomes Sarah warmly. She barely gives me the time of the day after saying hello and then following it up with, “It's good to see you without a swollen face this time around.”
I don't know whether to laugh or cry at that, but I decided not to do anything.
We enter the house, and they both immediately start to talk, whispering so low you'd think I was a spy.
It is so uncomfortable, and it drags on for so long I'm close to asking if I should go out. But I don't want to come off as rude, so I remain seated and listen to them whisper for over an hour.
Eventually, the whispering stops and Sarah turns to look at me.
“I'm going to get freshened up. Do make yourself at home, and don't hesitate to ask if you need anything.”
I watch her in amazement as she speaks and only manage to nod afterward.
I'm supposed to feel at home?
After all the suspicious whispering they've been doing for a while now?
Sarah stands up and walks away, and I do my best to not look at her. I have so many questions that I want to ask her, none of which she'll want to answer right now.
Sighing, I push back on the couch and let my head fall back. I didn't even remember to bring any clothes with me.
I always have some extra clothes in the back seat of my truck, but I'm certain they're mostly dirty. I'll have to wash them to have any hope of decent clothing.
“Would you like some iced tea?” I hear Sheila ask, and I raise my head to look at her.
Now that I'm allowing myself to properly assess her, she looks familiar. She looks like Sarah will look in twenty or thirty more years, only with brown hair.
“I'm fine,” I say and look away.
She hums and then stands up to leave. I'm suddenly overcome with the need to keep her with me, so I speak again.
“You have a lovely home.”
She turns to look at me, a knowing look on her face paired with a mocking smile. “Do I?”
It's not a question. Not in a real sense. Indirectly, she's asking me to cut the bullshit.
Fine.
“I need to know if she's hiding something important. How do I protect her if I don't know what I'm protecting her from?” I say in exasperation.
The whole secret thing is killing me. I don't do well with secrets, and I certainly don't know how to keep one. Not effectively anyway, and especially not from the people that matter.
Do I not matter to Sarah?
Is that why she's keeping this from me?
She doesn't trust that I'll keep her secret?
She did promise she’d tell you eventually.
Well, when will that be?
And of all the times for my subconscious to be subjective, now's not it.
I'm frustrated, damn it.
“You love her,” she says, robbing me of my ability to speak, literally.
“What… I… You… I don't understand,” I sputter.
She chuckles like someone who knows something you don't. Well, she does know something I don't know, and she's not telling me.
Going back to sit down, she holds my gaze, her smile still in place.
“Maybe I shouldn't have assumed. Maybe I should have asked. Do you love my niece, Ian?”
I stare at her in disbelief. Unable to come up with any words.
Do I love Sarah? I have no freaking clue.
Do I care about her? Yes.
Do I have feelings for her? Definitely.
Do I think those feelings could amount to love? No fucking clue.
Why would she even think I love Sarah?
Is it something I said?
“Well, are you going to answer or not?”
Shaking my head, I blow out a quiet breath.
“I don't know what to say.” I finally offer.
It's better than nothing.
She nods at my words. A flippant look comes over her face. “You don't have to say anything. In fact, I think it's best that you don't say anything. You should do something instead.”
Okay, I have no idea what she's talking about.
“If you do love her, which I think you do, protect her and all that she holds dear to her heart.”
With that being said, she stands up and walks out of the room, leaving me more confused than I was before the conversation.
I was looking for answers from her. Instead, she gave me more questions.
Great.
Now, I'm going to spend the rest of the night thinking about if I love Sarah or not.
Standing up, I follow her into the kitchen.
“I'll take the tea,” I say when I'm inside.
She looks at me and smiles. “Good choice.”
She pours me a glass of iced tea. I thank her and walk back into the living room.
I've barely sat down when she comes back with half a pitcher full along with some ice and places them on the table beside me.
“Just in case you want more. You can sleep on the couch if you want, or I can make a room for you.”
“The couch is fine, and thanks for this.” I motion to the tray in front of me.
She nods and walks away.
A few minutes later, she's back with a pillow and a duvet, and she sets them aside for me.
“Good night, Ian.”
“Good night, Sheila.”
When I'm all alone again, I drain my first glass of the tea and pour myself another one. I take a sip and place the glass down.
Throwing a pillow at the edge of the sofa I'm seated on, I position it well and then lie down.
My head barely rests on the pillow before the thought comes. It is sure going to be a long night.
Allowing the thoughts to flow freely, I mull over the possibility of me loving Sarah.
I've known her for a while. She's the only woman I've ever been stuck on, allowed myself to worry my head over or even think about having more than just sex with.
While I'm not a womanizer, I don't make a habit out of keeping in touch with the women I sleep with. I don't have the time.
But for Sarah, it's different. With Sarah, it's different.
Does that mean I love her?
A vibrating sensation starts to happen in my pocket, and I sit up to remove my phone before it starts to ring. I pick up the call just as the first tone belts out.
It's Richard.
“Hello?”
“You can come back to work,” he grumbles, surprisingly the hell out of me.
“What?” I bark in surprise, shooting from my seat. “How?”
“Well, your heroic action of going into a burning building against my command to save a dog was recorded and posted, and the whole town loved it. You're the talk of the county, and I can't have anyone noticing that you're no longer on the squad thereby bringing bad publicity to the station, so you can have your job back.”
Wow.
“Richard, I don't know what to say.”
“Don't say anything. Get your ass here tomorrow.”
He ends the call before I can say anything else, and I remain standing thinking of what I'm going to do now.
On the one hand is Sarah, who I'm not certain that I love but know that I care about. She needs me right now. I don't even know what she's running from apart from the media and the extent to which that can damage her.
And then on the other hand is my job, which I happen to be very certain that I love.
What do I choose?
Can I really leave Sarah and go back to my job?
And can I pass up the opportunity for what I've been begging to get back for a while now?