Chapter 15
Sawyer
“This is depressing.” I bend down and lift a charred license plate from the ground, using the arm not currently in a sling.
It was from the truck that had been in the bay when it went up in flames.
According to Drew, the truck was brought in right at closing by Brad Carlisle after it kept overheating on him.
Jack interviewed Brad, of course, but the guy was horrified to learn what happened. He’d had no part in it, and so far, they’ve got nothing.
Anger slices through me, cutting long and deep.
Not because of the shop. I mean, it sucks, but I meant what I told Anastasia: Buildings can be rebuilt.
No, my anger is because we’re a week past the accident that nearly killed both of us, and so far, there are no legitimate leads to follow.
The surveillance photo was a dud. The calls were a dud.
And now this explosion is a dud. Which, based on the timeline Jack gave us, gives us only one week before this guy is supposed to strike.
Seven days before he comes for Anastasia.
On one hand, I almost hope he does. I’ll be ready. Between Zane and me, we can handle anyone who comes her way.
But on the other hand, I’m terrified he’ll find a way to get to her. After all, I can’t be there a hundred percent of the time. There are moments when she needs privacy.
Really, I’m just so ready for them to catch this guy so she can go back to her normal life.
Her normal routine. She’s been trying so hard to remain positive.
I see it, though. The stress is etched into every single inch of her beautiful face.
It sits on her shoulders, slumping them down, and it keeps her tossing and turning all night.
There’ve been quite a few times I’ve heard her moving around and gotten up to go check in on her.
Since she’s been sleeping with her door open, I can peek in easily.
More than once, I’ve had to re-cover her because she’s kicked everything off.
And more than once, I’ve fought the urge to climb into the bed with her and hold her close, just until it passes.
However, with Zane across the hall, I figured it was best not to get caught lying in bed with his little sister. Even though nothing would have happened. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes with women before, and the last thing I’m going to do is make another with Anastasia.
So I’ll wait. Marriage, or not at all.
“This is going to be a process,” Weston comments as he kicks over some debris.
We got the all-clear to come in today now that the ATF has finished its investigation. Not that it did any good. They found absolutely nothing. Not even a partial print on the lighter that was rigged to ignite as soon as we opened the door.
A moment I’ve been reliving in horrific detail every time I close my eyes.
It should have blown right when we opened the door.
Thank God it didn’t, because Anastasia would have been killed. She was far enough in that the explosion would have siphoned the light out of her. When I close my eyes, that’s what I see. Her lying on the pavement, bloodied and broken, eyes frozen open.
I kick a piece of debris and shake my head.
Why did this happen?
Why is this happening?
“You good?” Weston questions.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need to make some phone calls, see if I can get someone in to come clear up this debris.
” Thankfully, I have enough in savings to last three years without the shop’s income.
Bad news is, even with insurance, this and paying my employees a base salary will likely eat through most of it.
Could be worse. More money can be earned.
“I can get the guys who removed that old barn from the ranch out here. They were fast and fair. Whatever they can get for scrapping the metal, they take off your final bill.”
“That would be great, Weston, thanks.”
“No problem.” He walks over the rubble to come back near me. “How is everything else going?” The awkwardness in his voice brings a smile to my face, and I turn to face him.
“Well, Mr. Hayes, are you about to inquire about my intentions with a certain coffee shop owner?”
He glares at me. “Not when you put it like that.”
Chuckling, I reach down and lift a piece of what was once my favorite coffee mug.
Anastasia had bought it for me when she caught me drinking out of a paper cup in my break room.
According to her, every good business owner has a real coffee cup in their possession at all times.
The broken shard has part of an S and all of an FL just below, but the rest of the mug that once read ‘Starter Fluid’ is nowhere to be found.
Which just drowns my mood even further.
“I care about her—a lot.”
“Do you love her?”
The question is pointed—just like Cowboy. I turn toward him and pocket the piece of jagged porcelain, unable to let it go even though it’s not anywhere close to salvageable. “Yes.”
“Good.” Weston moves past me.
“That’s it?”
“That’s all I need to know.”
“You know, you and Zane make a great good-brother, bad-brother.”
He chuckles. “Anastasia is important to us.”
“She is to me, too.”
“I know. Which is why I have no intention of breaking your legs should you hurt her.”
“Oh?”
“Nah, I’ll just snap a few fingers.” He grins at me, and I roll my eyes.
“I’ve seen your softer side, Cowboy. You don’t scare me.”
Laughing, he leaves the wreckage of my shop and stops just on the other side while I move to catch up.
My breathing has returned to normal, or at least as normal as one can breathe with two still-healing broken ribs.
Movements have gotten easier, too, which has been nice.
I no longer groan when I get up in the morning.
But I still feel useless.
Because of the current state of my physical well-being, there has to always be someone else around to keep Anastasia safe. Zane and Tessa are living in her guest room, and on the days when they’re busy or he’s working on his house, Garrison, Weston, or Ryker are present.
All because I’m too broken to protect the one thing that matters most to me.
Square up, Maddox. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at my own internal thoughts. Man, I’m whining so much I’m annoying even myself these days.
Part of my frustration is that there is always someone around.
Even as grateful as I am that everyone is taking Anastasia’s safety so seriously, I’m desperate to be alone with her.
To have a casual movie night with my best friend, complete with dinner, popcorn, and her falling asleep halfway through.
Which, of course, I recognize as completely selfish given the only reason we have constant supervision is because someone is trying to kill her.
“I’ll make that call,” Weston says as we start toward the back door of the coffee shop.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ve got some business at the ranch today, but I’ll check in with you tonight.” He veers toward his truck while I continue into the coffee shop. I’m just pulling the door open when Anastasia is starting up the stairs toward her apartment.
She stops and looks at me, eyes wide, until she realizes it’s me and not some stranger. Then she crosses her arms, and that surprise turns to irritation. “You are supposed to be resting.”
“I was out for a walk. Sunshine and all. Keeps me cheery.” But nothing about my mood is cheery.
And Anastasia notices.
She uncrosses her arms and walks over toward me, stopping right as I flip the lock on the closed door behind me. “Are you okay?”
“People keep asking me that.”
“Hey, same here.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal. You stop asking me if I’m okay, and I’ll try to remember to do the same.”
She smiles. “Deal.” She gently pats my chest with the hand not currently in a cast. “I was coming up to see if you wanted lunch. Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Great. Then come on, I will make us both a sandwich.” She starts up the stairs, and I follow, each step making me wish I could pull her into my arms at the top—both of my arms.
That kiss last week is still lingering in my mind, sneaking up at every possible opportunity to torment and remind me that I’ve yet to make good on my promise to try it again with more lung capacity.
But I really want to wait until the right moment. Preferably when I have use of both of my arms. And there is no chance anyone will come in and spoil the moment.
“Turkey and cheese all right?” Anastasia asks after unlocking her apartment door and moving into the kitchen.
“Yeah. I can help.” I don’t wait for her permission before I’m stepping into the kitchen with her.
As she pulls out the bread, I start taking the sandwich fixings out of the refrigerator and setting them on top of the counter.
“So what’s the verdict about your shop?” she asks. Her tone is casual, but the weight is there. “Will you rebuild?”
I stop and turn toward her. “I’m not going anywhere else.”
Relief floods her expression. “I know it’s silly, but I worried that since it’s gone, you might want to—well… I just didn’t want you to leave.”
“Anastasia, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Things have just been weird. Right? Or am I imagining it? I’m probably imagining it.”
What is she nervous about? Does she seriously think I would leave?
“Things are different right now, but that doesn’t mean they’re weird. Eventually, we’ll get time alone. Then I can take you on a proper date.” I shove my own dark mood down to grin at Anastasia.
Her answering smile makes the mask worth it.
“Good. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a pain.
I just—” She trails off, then sets the bread she just cut onto two plates.
“If you end up re-thinking this. We can go back to just being friends, Sawyer. I don’t want to lose you in my life because you’re too afraid to hurt my feelings. ”
I stare at her—is she serious?
“Are you rethinking this?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Then what in the world would give you the impression that I was?”
“Well, I—” She stops speaking, and her cheeks heat. “Forget it; it’s dumb.”
“No, it’s not.” I move in closer, reaching out to cup her chin and tilt her face up.
“If I seem distant, it’s only because not having my hands on you feels impossible.
I’m trying to be respectful of your brother being here, even though the only thing I want to do is take you into my arms and keep you there.
” I let my hand drop down to her shoulder, then trail the tips of my fingers over her arm.
Goosebumps flare to life along her skin, and she shudders.
“You are all I want, Anastasia. All I’ve ever wanted.”
Her breath catches, and she looks up at me through thick lashes. Unable to resist, I reach up and brush my thumb against her cheek.
“See, impossible,” I whisper, and she laughs.
“I can’t lose you, Sawyer.” Anastasia reaches up and presses her hand on my chest, right over a heart that beats only for her.
“You won’t. Ever.”