The One That Got Away (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  Never had Brynn Chandler been at a loss for words and certainly not with Jamie Kingston. Yet here they were, travel weary—and for Brynn, heart weary—and silent. An entire day spent together and not a word passed between them. How did they get here? And by here, she didn’t mean parked in front of a kitschy teepee where she was about to spend her last night with Jamie before L.A. No, here meant sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his truck yet knowing he was a million miles away.

  “There’re two beds,” he said, the first words to leave his lips since Amarillo. “They don’t have any other vacancies, or I would have gotten you your own.” He motioned with his hand to the structure in front of him. “Is it a teepee or a wigwam? I know it’s the Wigwam Motel, but I think that’s a teepee.”

  Brynn let her head fall back against her seat.

  “I don’t need my own wigwam. Or teepee. Or whatever it is.”

  “You needed your own room last night. I just thought…”

  While they’d both become quick experts at pretending the person right next to them didn’t exist, she supposed they couldn’t go on like this for another twenty-four hours.

  “Let’s not do this, Jamie. Okay? You’re the one who wanted to sleep on the floor. I left so you wouldn’t have to.” She let out a shaky breath. The only place she’d wanted to be last night was in his arms, and it killed her that he couldn’t see that.

  The truck was in park, but he still gripped the wheel like they were driving seventy-five on the open highway.

  “Do what?” he asked, the words spoken through gritted teeth, and Brynn’s blood boiled. He was angry? He was angry?

  “What are you so pissed about?” she asked him, but he still stared out the windshield. “You’ve made up your mind about how the rest of this trip is going to go. This is what you want, right? Because you sure have a hell of a way of showing it.”

  He faced her now, those blue eyes piercing her with an intensity she’d never seen from him.

  “I want us to trust each other. I want you to know I’m not going to get scared and run, and I want you to be sure I’m not just your backup plus-one anymore, B. The only way for you to know how you really feel about me is for you to know how you feel about him. Physical distance will give us perspective.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that physical distance is what made her think she needed to chase after a fantasy like Spencer in the first place. That closeness—being with Jamie—showed her what reality could be. But he’d already turned away. With a flick of his wrist, the key was out of the ignition and his door was open.

  “I’m starving,” he said. “No food here, but they told me we can order pizza. Pineapple and bacon, if they have it?”

  She gave him a weak smile. Jamie was the only one who would eat pineapple and bacon pizza with her, and the fact that he still would—well, that was something.

  “Fine,” she said, and they exited the small confines of the truck for the equally small confines of their room at the Wigwam Motel.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening passed with minimal yet civil conversation. They were in the same room, yet it felt like Jamie had closed a door between them, eliminating any opening for her to state her case.

  Turned out the pizza place did not have pineapple, but she still got her bacon. There was a wall-mounted TV in their small, circular room, and it got basic cable, so she considered that a tiny victory. She found a marathon of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives on The Food Network, and they both tacitly agreed that would be their evening activity.

  One of the dives visited on a later episode was the Coyote Bluff Café. Brynn gasped when she recognized the parking lot where she caught the bouquet, and when she looked at Jamie, he pressed his lips into a thin smile, but that was all she got.

  For ten years she had what would be called a less than stellar love life. It wasn’t as if she full-on pined for Spencer Matthews for a decade. But yes—the reunion dredged up old memories and questions. What if Jamie hadn’t kissed her that night? What if she’d never gotten sick? If she’d made it to the end-of-the-year party, would Spencer have been the one? Would he have been the one two weeks ago? And what did that mean for tomorrow?

  The funny thing was, Brynn thought she’d already answered that question. She loved Jamie. But he didn’t trust her feelings. He loved her, but she didn’t trust his ability to outrun his fear. Maybe he was right. They were stuck and needed to figure out a way to believe in each other, so she’d give Jamie what he needed and hope she’d get what she needed in return—him.

  She had bitten the bullet and texted Spencer back, telling him she wasn’t sure if she’d make it by Friday even though she knew she would. Committing to spending the night with him felt all sorts of wrong, and she wanted to tell Jamie this, that even when they made it to L.A. tomorrow she wouldn’t stay with Spencer. She’d see this thing through, go to the book launch on Saturday, but that would be it. Her thoughts were interrupted by Jamie, wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, exiting the tiny space that was otherwise known as the bathroom.

  “Keep your limbs inside the vehicle at all times,” he said, raising a brow. “It’s like playing Operation trying to get through there.”

  Brynn giggled quietly. The doorway that separated their two beds was barely wider than a human body.

  “I’ll make sure to keep my spastic gesturing to a minimum.”

  He smiled, and she felt a tiny weight lift from her chest. Not enough to tell her they were going to be okay, but breathing got a little easier.

  “Just be careful, B. Wouldn’t want you losing a hand or anything.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” she told him. “I’m just going to let Holly know we’ll be in L.A. tomorrow, and then I’ll wash up for bed. And about tomorrow, Jamie—”

  “Can we continue not talking about tomorrow?” he asked. “I know it was my idea, but that doesn’t mean I’m excited about it.”

  She nodded. Fine. They had eight hours in the truck for her to make her final case, to tell him she was spending tomorrow night in L.A. with him—and not Spencer.

  “Good night, B.” He pulled the T-shirt over his head and climbed into bed, his back to her. She watched the muscle and bone of his shoulder work in tandem as he situated himself for sleep, and all she could think was how much she wanted to be there with him, his arms around her, convincing her they would be okay. It wasn’t sex she thought about now, only the comfort of being close to him and the promise that however this trip ended, they’d still be Jamie and Sleepy Jean.

  She turned off the TV and texted Holly:

  Everything’s a mess right now. I’ll be in L.A. tomorrow. Headed to book launch Saturday.

  Holly’s reply came in seconds: Wanna talk?

  Brynn: Can’t. No privacy in the teepee.

  Holly: Teepee?

  Brynn: Teepee.

  Holly: Call me when you get to L.A.?

  Brynn: Yeah. Love you.

  Holly: Love you.

  As much as she wanted to talk to her sister, she knew Holly couldn’t make her decisions for her—or Jamie, for that matter. She changed into a T-shirt and shorts right there in the open, and Jamie never turned around. She grabbed her toiletry bag from her suitcase and left her glasses on her pillow so she could wash up for bed.

  Arms at her sides, Brynn concentrated on not severing a limb as she stepped toward the narrow doorway. But as luck would have it—or maybe this was finally karma rearing its ugly head—she never had to worry about her limbs. She made it through the doorway and, thinking herself out of the woods, never saw the metal towel rack coming.

  She could blame her haste. Or maybe her need to lighten the mood with Jamie. But when she spun to poke her head out of the tiny doorframe to tell him she made it unscathed, her new friend—the metal towel rack, of course—greeted her forehead with a crack.

  She was too stunned to cry out, but it didn’t matter. Jamie was there in a flash, the face-to-metal contact enough to rous
e him from any faux or actual slumber.

  “Jesus, Brynn!” He whipped one of the towels off the evil rack and pressed it to her forehead. “You’re bleeding. What the hell happened?”

  He pulled the towel back to get another look and winced.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  She knew it wasn’t good because, holy shit, it hurt. And it wasn’t normal for white spots to dance across her vision even when she had her glasses off. She staggered a step, and Jamie caught her before she fell. Yeah, this dizziness wasn’t normal, either.

  Jamie guided her to the bed and sat her down. He propped pillows against the headboard and leaned her back. Then he pulled off the towel, presumably to inspect the wound again. Brynn couldn’t see the injury, so she could only guess.

  “I don’t think you need stitches, but that’s one hell of a goose egg you’ve got already.” He handed her glasses to her, and she managed to get them on. “I’m guessing based on proximity that it’s the towel rack’s ass I have to kick?”

  She nodded and tried to smile, but the movement filled her vision with stars again. “Dizzy,” she said. “Am I still bleeding?”

  He pulled the towel away, the white towel that now looked like part of a crime scene, and Brynn gasped.

  “I could put you in a taxi to the ER,” he said, and a smile crept on to his face.

  She thwacked him on the shoulder, and even though her head throbbed, she laughed.

  “I couldn’t leave Annie’s store unattended, you jerk. You know I felt like crap stabbing you and then making you go alone.”

  His smile broadened. “You finally admit to stabbing me!” He was exultant now. “And I know you hated letting me go on my own, B,” he said, and he blotted the wound again. “It’s not bleeding too badly, which is a good sign, but you could have a concussion. I’m going to run to the main office and see if I can get you some ice and a bandage. If the dizziness hasn’t gone away by the time I get back, we’re finding a hospital.”

  Brynn groaned. “Stupid karma.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go to sleep or anything, and keep pressure on the wound.” Jamie kissed her on the top of her head as if everything between them was fine. “And stop blaming karma. You’re legally blind without your glasses. Plus, I know you’ve got some twisted vendetta against motel towel racks. You should probably seek professional help.”

  He was out the door after that, and Brynn resisted the urge to close her eyes, just in case she was concussed. She was grateful they could still come together in a crisis—a small, stupid crisis that would mean her having to explain her injury to anyone who saw her in the next week at least. The valley between them hadn’t grown too wide to cross. Not yet, at least.

  Minutes later, the door burst open, and Jamie walked in—still shirtless, by the way—with a bag of ice, a box of gauze, and a middle-aged man.

  “I didn’t think I was that dizzy,” Brynn said, “but now I think I’m seeing double. Except the second you is a few years older and maybe more ruggedly handsome.”

  The man did wear his salt and pepper hair well and had that perma five o’clock shadow look that she liked.

  “So she’s making jokes,” the stranger said, moving to sit on the edge of Brynn’s bed. “That’s a good sign.”

  “Not good ones,” Jamie mumbled, and then he added, “Brynn, this is Dr. George. He’s a pediatrician from San Jose.”

  Her brows furrowed. “And they had him up at the front desk for you to borrow?”

  The man laughed. “I was getting a bag of ice to bring back to my room. My wife hates drinking soda without it.”

  “I like her already,” she said.

  “I can’t consider this an official medical evaluation because we aren’t in the office, no insurance, you get the gist. We will have to consider this an evaluation by a civilian, regardless of my credentials. I can tell you whether or not you have a concussion, which may save you a trip to the ER, but you should follow up with your regular doctor within the week if you’re still experiencing symptoms.”

  Jamie sat on the side of his own bed to face them.

  “I checked his ID. He’s legit.”

  Brynn squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m kind of mortified he pulled you away from your family for my ridiculous accident.”

  Dr. George shook his head. “I offered. Happy to help.” He leaned closer to her and spoke softly. “Plus, your friend here was out of his mind with worry. I’m sure you’re fine, but I couldn’t leave him in that state.”

  She bit her lip and looked at Jamie, knowing he heard every word the doctor said because, duh, they were in a teepee.

  “Even Mr. Level-Headed loses his cool sometimes, I guess.”

  Jamie pressed his lips into a thin smile, but the worry in those blue eyes was evident.

  Dr. George pulled a penlight out of a messenger bag he wore across his body.

  “I’m just going to do a quick examination, and then it’s up to you two what you do next, okay?”

  Brynn nodded and let the doctor get to work.

  Fifteen minutes later he confirmed she didn’t show any early signs of concussion, but he reminded Brynn that this couldn’t be considered a real examination. It was her choice if she wanted to still go to the ER. He helped her clean and bandage her wound and also suggested ibuprofen, which she fished from her bag and took without protest. She held a handful of ice wrapped in a clean towel against the swelling, and she was as good as new. Okay, she was a mess, but she was a patched-up mess, and that was as good as it was going to get.

  “Thank you, Dr. George,” Jamie said when he was done.

  “Get some rest, Brynn,” the doctor said to her. “And you…” He turned to Jamie. “You keep an eye on her. If anything worsens by morning, seek further medical attention.”

  Jamie nodded, his brow knitted in concern.

  “I’m fine. Really,” Brynn told them.

  Jamie shook the man’s hand and saw him to the door. He tried to offer him money, but Dr. George waved him off and then headed back to his teepee. Or wigwam. Whatever.

  The ice made her cold, and she was too exhausted to hold it, so she dropped it into the glass of water on the table next to her bed and let the towel fall to the floor.

  After locking the door, Jamie leaned forward and rested his head against it. She opened her mouth to say something but held her tongue as she watched the tension leave his body on an exhale, only now realizing just how worried he was. So she let him have his moment of release. Soon he turned to face her, and when he did, he walked straight to her bed and climbed in, positioning himself so he spooned her from behind.

  She swallowed back the threat of a sob even though she could really use her own release. Instead she relaxed into his chest, felt the heat of his skin against the cotton of her T-shirt warming her body’s chill.

  “I’m keeping an eye on you, okay?” he asked, though it was more insistence than it was a question.

  “Okay,” she said without protest.

  His hand rested tentatively on her hip, and she placed her palm over it, pulling it to drape across her stomach. She squeezed his hand, and Jamie responded by holding her just a little tighter. Neither of them said another word, but Brynn couldn’t let go of the fear that despite his need to protect her, she and Jamie seemed to be moving further and further from the way they were. They were lucky to find their way back to friendship after college. But they were too far across the line now. Friendship was no longer an option.

  She held it together as long as she could—Amarillo, the silent car ride, the unanticipated towel rack attack, and the whole decade preceding all of it. When Jamie’s breathing finally evened out and she thought he must be sleeping, that’s when she finally let the tears flow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was a shitty thing to do, but Jamie didn’t have any other option. If he hadn’t slid out of bed before she woke, he would have caved completely and called off the rest of t
he trip. They could hole up in their teepee instead, pretending nothing else existed outside of him pressed up against her in that bed. But there was a world outside of Holbrook, Arizona. There was Spencer Matthews in L.A. And he was going to follow through on his offer and bring the woman he loved to another guy.

  Besides, his shoulder ached and his hand was asleep, but really none of that mattered when the cause of it was Brynn in his arms.

  If he waited for her to stir, risked her facing him with what he knew would be swollen eyes from the quiet sobs he pretended not to hear last night, he would have kissed her like he’d wanted to since he crawled into her bed, and where would they be then? Nothing had happened to rebuild their trust in each other, and he knew it couldn’t be done with just a kiss.

  He went over last night’s events in his head as he quietly dressed and packed his things, Brynn’s steady breathing assurance that she was okay after her injury. Jamie, however, was far from it.

  He closed his eyes, and the scene played out again before him—Brynn frozen in place as blood trickled from the gash in her forehead. His stomach had dropped, as if he sat in an airplane that had just lost a few thousand feet of altitude. But the adrenaline had kicked in enough for him to guide her to the bed, help her keep pressure on the wound, and ease her mind while his quietly raced.

  His lids flew open, the vision of Brynn asleep and okay the only thing that slowed his frenzied breaths. He listened to her soft exhalations, letting them lull his own into sync with her rhythm. He didn’t have to pretend everything was fine anymore in order to protect her. She would be okay, but things between them were far from fine.

  He’d only ever wanted Brynn to want him back, and when that finally became a reality when they were seventeen, all he could think about was how much it would suck to lose her. Yes, his parents’ split rocked his world. He wouldn’t deny that. But what rocked it even more was the thought of something like that happening to him and Brynn.

  Then there was the other guy. How could she go from being so convinced Spencer was the guy to being sure she wanted him? It was easy back then to blame the divorce for his reluctance to change their status from friendship to something more, but he could never shake the feeling of being Brynn’s consolation prize. And here they were again in the same position, but this time Brynn knew how he felt—how he had felt for ten years. Yet he had deceived her about his intentions with this trip. And she had kept secret Spencer’s request for her to spend the night.