by A. J. Pine
He held out his hand, and she laced her fingers through his. This was nothing new for them, but for Jamie it felt like more than habit. It was a beginning.
He took the first step, and Brynn followed suit.
Forward, he thought. And they moved toward the Arch.
…
“Maybe you were right.”
Brynn whispered the words to Jamie as she leaned back against the wall of their…pod? Compartment? Coffin? Oh God. She was going to be buried with Jamie, a young mother, and the woman’s small child when the bottom dropped out of this monstrosity and they plummeted to the earth.
“You’re okay, B.”
Jamie’s voice was calm but far from soothing. He squeezed her hand, and if she wasn’t sure she only had minutes left to live, Brynn would have been mortified by her sweaty palms. But what was a little sweat between friends when she was ready to head toward the light?
“We’re almost at the top,” he said, his voice smooth and soft, though Brynn could swear she detected a smile. She wouldn’t know, though. She stared straight ahead at the tiny, white elevator-like doors illuminated in an eerie, sterile white light. She ignored Jamie in her periphery as she held her body rigid against the back of her chair in the…was it a cubicle? What the hell was this thing called?
“When the capsule gets to the top, in about seven more minutes, we can get out and go to the observation deck.”
“Capsule!” she said, her volume far and away too much for the cramped space.
“Mommy, why is da wady wif da big eyes so loud?”
This got Brynn’s attention, and she let her gaze fall on the fair-haired preschooler seated on her equally fair-haired mother’s lap.
The woman smiled apologetically at Jamie, and he shrugged. Kids, they seemed to say without the words, and Brynn was not amused.
Her eyes did feel a little dry now that she thought of it, but she didn’t have enough elbow room to fish her contact solution out of her bag and, clammy hands or not, she was not letting go of her death grip on Jamie’s hand. The little girl would just have to spend the next seven minutes with Brynn in wide-eyed revelation that she was, in fact, in a capsule.
“I can’t do it,” Brynn said. “I can’t get out. Give me the pills. I’ll take one or seven, and we’ll call it a day. You can drag me to the truck and get us back on the road. I don’t even need to eat.”
Jamie narrowed his eyes at her.
“I need to eat,” he argued.
“So eat! Who’s stopping you from eating? I’ll be asleep.”
He sighed. “You can do it. You already are doing it.”
She wanted to argue with him, to tell him that the only thing she was doing was exactly what he predicted she would do—freaking out.
“I’m not afwaid,” the young girl said. “I was, but I’m not anymore.”
Brynn sighed, and her shoulders relaxed at the sound of the little girl’s voice.
“You’re not?” she asked as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she waited for the sage wisdom of the three- or four-year-old girl in front of her.
The girl shook her head.
“Mommy said I’m always safe when I’m wif her, and I believe Mommy. She said it’s ’cause I…what’s da word, Mommy?”
“Trust,” the woman said, and the girl beamed.
“Twust! It’s ’cause I twust Mommy.”
Brynn craned her neck to look at Jamie, who was so close she had to lean away just to see his face next to hers.
“Smart girl,” he said, and now Brynn not only heard it but saw his smile. He wasn’t making fun of her or teasing her, just smiling.
“I used to be the smart girl.”
Brynn pouted, not feeling anything along the lines of smart. Put her in front of a computer and tell her to make sure accounts payable and accounts receivable added up correctly, and she could do that. Do your taxes? Sure! No problem! Leave her alone too long on the second floor of Two Stories, and she’d create a display that highlighted her favorite period romances or the best young adult trilogies. Give Brynn Chandler something visual to organize, whether it was books or numbers, and she was the smartest girl around. But ask her to organize her life, to know the difference between false bravado and honest-to-goodness paralyzing fear, and she was not to be trusted.
But Jamie—there was a guy she could trust. A friend who’d never let her fall.
Brynn’s eyes widened again, but this time it wasn’t the frenzied look of fear. It was something else—something like realization.
“I’m not going to fall,” she said, her words directed at Jamie. What if she did have someone there to catch her when she needed catching? Was that so bad?
“Not while I’m around.” His smile broadened. He knew he’d broken through, and as much as she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right—of winning, essentially—she smiled back at him.
“I trust you,” she told him, and he let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing.
Geez, he had been as tense as she was, but he hadn’t let her see it. He hid that for her, and she trusted him even more now because of it.
“It’s about freaking time,” he said, and Brynn realized her palm wasn’t the only one sweating. He’d been this nervous for her. God, she had to loosen up or he was going to give himself an ulcer getting her across the country.
“Always,” she said. “I will always trust you, Jamie.”
The capsule shook and then stopped. The blond little girl giggled and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Brynn, on the other hand, slammed her foot down onto the floor as if she were stepping on some emergency break.
“What was that?” She started to transform into the Brynn of ten minutes ago, the one ready to throw in the towel as long as it meant she didn’t have to experience this.
“You did it, SJ. You made it to the top.”
The capsule door slid open, and the woman and her little girl shuffled out first.
“Don’t be afwaid,” the girl said to Brynn. “I’m not so big, but I did a big girl fing, and now I’m not so scared to do more big girl fings.”
Brynn was afraid. It’s not like years of programming could be deprogrammed within minutes. But she wasn’t doing this alone.
“I made it to the top.”
Jamie nodded. “And we can wait right here for it to start up again. Ten minutes, and we’re on our way back down.”
She shook her head. “It would be a really crappy leap if I stopped in the middle of it. Wouldn’t it?”
“You still made it to the top,” he said. “That’s a big step, if not a leap.”
“Let’s go take a look,” she said, and Jamie waited as she pushed past him and out of the capsule. She offered him a hand, and he grabbed it, letting her pull him on to solid ground—solid ground that was six hundred thirty feet up in the air.
“You sure?” he asked when he was standing next to her.
She shook her head. She wasn’t sure at all. But she wasn’t stopping, either, not when she had come this far.
“Do you feel safe up here?” she asked.
“Yes.” Jamie didn’t hesitate with the word, not for a second.
“Then I trust you,” she said. “In the grand scheme of things, this is a baby step. The giant leap will be L.A.”
She put one foot in front of the other, knees threatening to buckle with each step, but she kept moving.
If she made it through this, it would be a sign, something foretelling of the rest of the trip, just like the flat tire. If she could do this, she could justify traveling across the country for a guy who might be the one. Because if she could follow through with conquering one fear, she could do the same with the rest.
Solid ground awaited, and so did Spencer Matthews. She hoped.
Chapter Ten
“Truth or dare?” Brynn asked, and Jamie chuckled softly.
“What kind of a dare can I do when I’m driving? You do want to make it to our next destinati
on, don’t you?”
His smile didn’t falter, though. Jamie liked this, the ease of being with Brynn and playing silly games. When he wasn’t fixating on her giant leap in L.A. or how he felt, along with how he would tell her, the two fell into a rhythm that was effortless, like nothing had changed. That’s because maybe for Brynn, it hadn’t. Jamie was the one with a realization the night of the reunion. Not her.
Time. He had time. For now he could push his fixation into a corner of his mind, lock it away until the time was right. On this leg of Route 66, the two of them could just be.
“I’m still waiting,” she said with exaggerated impatience. “And I promise not to jeopardize our safety. I’m not going to risk my life after conquering the Arch.”
A self-satisfied smile spread across her face, and he decided to let her bask. He could mention her bursting into tears when the capsule reached the ground again, but he was proud of her and wanted her to have her moment.
“And I’m still thinking,” he mused, dragging out the seconds just to annoy her. “Fine. Dare.”
Jamie allowed himself a quick glance before settling his gaze back on the road. Brynn’s brows shot up before she went all contemplative. She tapped her finger against her pursed lips, and he just kept driving, his smile lingering. Whatever she had to throw at him was better than opening himself up to questions he had to answer 100 percent truthfully.
“Sing me the chorus to your favorite Monkees song.”
Jamie let his head thud against the headrest, eyes rolling in time with the movement.
“Seriously?” he said. “You have favorite Monkees songs. I’m just the guy who humors your strange musical fixation. One, I might add, that I kept a secret all through high school for you.”
Brynn blew out a breath and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, though he wasn’t sure what she was defying other than good taste in music.
“You chose dare, James Kingston. I don’t remember there being any sort of request for personal insult. This is the reason for going underground with my Monkees love after middle school, you know. Reactions like yours. Well, guess what? I’m out of the musical closet now, so you can’t bring me down, mister. Now stop stalling. You’ve heard all the songs. There has to be one you like better than the rest.”
He had heard all the songs, over and over again. It’s not like Brynn didn’t listen to any other music, but the Monkees were always the go-to when she needed something to make her smile. He couldn’t argue with that, and because he chose dare, he also couldn’t argue with the request. Though he promised no guarantee the act would not endanger their lives or the lives of others.
“I didn’t mean to insult…” he started, but she cut him off.
“Still stalling,” she said, her tone haughty. “Come on, James. I’ve heard you sing. You’re not too bad. Now just prove to me you know the words, and we can both put this behind us.”
So he did it—belted it, actually. Jamie Kingston didn’t just sing the chorus to “I’m a Believer.” He sang the whole damn song, finishing just as they came to their exit in Galena, Kansas. He pulled into town and then into the parking lot of the historic Cars on the Route service station.
“I gotta piss,” he said, throwing the truck into park and holding back a smirk. Brynn sat, mouth agape, silent through his whole performance and silent still. When he opened his door and hopped out, he heard her clear her throat behind him.
“That was…um…good,” she said. “I didn’t know you could sing like that,” she added softly. But he didn’t turn back. The disbelief in her voice was enough. Plus, he didn’t want her to see how much he beamed with satisfaction as he strode toward the station.
Let’s see Spencer Matthews do that, he thought.
Then he hummed what he supposed was his favorite Monkees song the rest of the walk to the door.
He’d make a believer out of her yet.
…
What the hell was that?
Brynn braced her hands on the side of the sink, uncommonly clean for a gas station bathroom. The white porcelain sparkled, and the end of the toilet paper was folded into a triangle like they do at fancy hotels. Chalk it up to the place being a historic landmark or to the tourism in general, but the Cars on the Route bathroom was one of the cleanest public restrooms she’d ever seen. Hands-on-the-sink clean.
Brynn blinked, her dry eyes already irritated. So she pulled her contact case and solution from her purse and decided to give her lenses a little rinse.
Her mind went back to the question at hand. What. The hell. Was that?
She’d expected Jamie to scoff at her dare request. She’d expected him to comply, begrudgingly, of course. What she hadn’t expected was the entire song, or how freaking good he sounded singing it. He didn’t sound like Mickey Dolenz or Davy Jones. He didn’t sound like a Monkee at all.
He sounded good. Better. Sexy.
When had he learned how to sing like that? Or was that another part of her friend she’d never been privy to before?
She tried to reconcile the Jamie who just got out of the truck—the one who sang with abandon and pretty much blew her mind—with the reserved guy who preferred hiding out on his own to mingling with their fellow graduates at last week’s reunion. She thought back to that night, to how much she’d wanted to, at the very least, make eye contact with him before she left with Spencer. But he was MIA until he came barging into his office.
Huh. Brynn saw it more clearly now compared to then, when she looked at Jamie with inebriated ire. He had barged, like he was in a rush or on some sort of mission. Did he have to start an emergency Oktoberfest batch? It was too late for that. Maybe he’d suddenly realized a color-coding error on his dry-erase calendar. That would have needed immediate attention. Whatever it was that had kept Jamie hidden before Brynn snuck off with Spencer had also sent him back to his office anxious and agitated, and she’d never asked him why.
Why, Jamie? Why, when she decided to take him up on his offer, had she thought the trip would be simple until they reached L.A.? Why, instead of relaxing in the comfort of being with someone she’d known for more than fifteen years, had she been surprised at every turn, wondering if she ever really knew the man she was with the way she thought she did?
She knew part of the answer lay in what happened ten years ago. She’d never admit it to Jamie, but she had held back, kept a safe distance since he put a crack in her vulnerable teenaged heart. At first the distance between them was fueled by anger—anger at him for making her feel what she didn’t even know was there and then squashing any sort of possibility with his own fear.
But Brynn knew fear, too—fear bigger than a six-hundred-thirty-foot arch—and she let that fear keep her from fighting for him when they were teens. She let it keep her safe for ten long years, reminding herself that if they ever crossed that boundary again, losing him a second time would hit her harder, that the damage to their friendship would be irreparable. They were kids then. When the heart was young and strong, it could bounce back from breaking. But she and Jamie were all grown up now. Wounds didn’t heal as quickly as they used to, and it had taken them four years to make their way back to normal last time. So Jamie sounding sexy singing his heart out in the truck could be nothing more.
She sighed at herself in the mirror—though all she could see was her blurry outline while her lenses soaked in their case—mustered up a small helping of that fear, and used it to bury any sort of delight she took in Jamie’s recent performance. They had less than two hours to go before Tulsa, their resting spot for the night after nearly eleven hours on the road, but her eyes were begging for relief now.
She unscrewed the lid labeled L and quickly deposited her contact back into her left eye. There. So much better. She was about to do the same with the right, but the knock on the door startled her, her hand jerking toward her face, and the contact toppling from her fingertip…into the too-clean sink and down the drain.
“B? You in there? I went back t
o the truck and didn’t see you…”
“SHIT!” she yelled. What was it with Jamie and his goddamn timing?
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Let me in, Brynn!”
Jamie’s voice was strained and insistent, dripping with worry. So Brynn unlocked the door, ready to drown his worry in venom.
He barreled into the bathroom, and she stumbled backward both with déjà vu and the dizziness associated with being extremely farsighted while wearing only one contact. Jamie caught her before her back hit the sink, and she threw her arms around him, holding herself up. For a moment they lingered like that, but she quickly remembered why she was dizzy in the first place.
“You!” she yelled, pushing herself from him and trying to focus with her good eye. “It’s always you!”
Brynn closed the eye without the lens and watched as Jamie looked from her to the sink and then back again. She’d left the contact solution on the corner of the sink, and he must have seen it, because recognition and guilt bloomed across his face.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. And then he started to laugh.
She swatted at his chest but missed, and he only laughed more.
She didn’t join him. In fact, she had to hold her breath to keep from bursting into tears. Jamie had to have seen it in her expression because his laughter ceased the second his eyes focused on hers—her opened eye, that is—again.
“Don’t even tell me,” he said, but Brynn nodded.
He figured out exactly what she just realized only moments before. When she rummaged through her bag for the contact solution, she became aware of the one necessity she forgot to pack—her glasses.
This wasn’t how the first day was supposed to end, not when there had been signs—the flat tire, conquering the Arch.
“Smooth sailing,” she insisted and realized the tears came anyway. “It was supposed to be smooth sailing from here on out.”
She sniffled and faltered in her footing again, this time burying her head in Jamie’s chest.
“I can’t wear just the one,” she sobbed. “I’m dizzy enough already. It’ll make me sick if I keep it in.”
