by A. J. Pine
Her fingers brushed over the gauze. “You could say that. Rough courtship, actually.” She laughed, and the woman’s smile broadened.
“How long were you together before the wedding?”
Brynn shifted her body so she was facing the woman now, lucky bouquet still pressed firmly to her heart.
“Ten years.” And as she said it, Brynn knew it was true. Maybe they went about this whole thing in the most messed-up way possible, but no matter which way you looked at it, her heart had somehow been his. “Holy shit. I’ve loved him for ten years.” She let go of the bouquet to fish her phone out of her bag. “I need to tell him.”
The woman’s brows pulled together. “He doesn’t know?”
“No! I mean, the bouquet’s mine, but we’re not married. I caught it. At the wedding we crashed. And then he kissed me because Frank and Dora told us to so we could get the free room. I thought we were putting on a show, but it was real. And then he told me he loved me and he—let’s just say he did some things, amazing things. I think he knows I love him, but he doesn’t know I’ve loved him the whole time. I didn’t really know it until now. I need to tell him I was an idiot for not fighting for him then or today when he put me on this bus and, oh my God, why isn’t there cell phone service here?”
She stopped to catch her breath. She expected braid lady to pull the emergency stop cord and have her removed from the vehicle, but instead the woman looked at her and sighed, a soft smile on her face.
“Messy courtship indeed.”
Brynn laughed, but tears sprang to her eyes as she did.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. The dead zone only lasts about an hour, until we’re out of Coconino County. Relax for a little bit, and then you can call your guy.”
Brynn nodded and took in a slow breath. Then out. She repeated the calming exercise, and it seemed to be working. She needed the rest of the hour to go by as quickly as possible. Then she’d call Jamie. She’d tell him they were both idiots, and that would be that.
“Thank you,” she told the woman. “I think I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes.”
She leaned her head against the window and clutched the plastic-bagged bouquet like a teddy bear.
Just a few minutes was all she needed to collect her thoughts. Her eyes fell shut, and she didn’t bother to set an alarm on her phone. She was too excited to talk to Jamie. Her body would know to wake her when the cell service returned.
Only it wasn’t her body that woke her. It was the pothole on the 101. In L.A.
Brynn had cell service all right, and while she cursed herself for sleeping through her adrenaline rush to call Jamie, the one text notification on her phone deflated her completely.
Spencer: Assuming you aren’t making it tonight, but if you do, we’ll be in the Tower Bar from eight until we close the place down. Hope I don’t seem too eager. Just looking forward to seeing you again.
She didn’t know what she expected when she looked at her phone, not until she saw what wasn’t there. She had an excuse for not contacting him—exhaustion plus the hypnotic lull of a moving vehicle. Brynn should have known better. But how could he not have checked in? Why didn’t he have the same sort of revelation? She wasn’t sure what she expected, but for her to hear nothing the whole day after he shipped her off and out of his sight… Maybe this was Jamie’s final push, his way of telling her no matter what happens in L.A., he can’t handle what happened in Amarillo.
One final stare at her screen solidified her plan. She had nowhere to stay but knew the name of one hotel. As luck would have it, the Sunset Tower Hotel—the one Spencer had invited her to—was less than ten miles from Center Studios, the location for tomorrow’s beer fest. If she needed Jamie for a ride home, he wouldn’t be too far away. Though she couldn’t imagine another few days in the car with him now. She also couldn’t afford to get home any other way. How had one unintentional nap completely changed her perspective?
It wasn’t the nap, and she knew it. Something had made her believe—no, expect—that Jamie would come after her, that he would realize how ridiculous he was being asking her to make a choice she knew in her heart was already made. But Jamie wasn’t the one looking forward to seeing her tonight, and that realization threatened to knock her on her tired and virtually numb ass.
A girl of her word, Brynn kept her promise and texted Jamie:
Made it here safely. Have fun tomorrow. Let’s talk about travel-home arrangements when you get to town.
She waited. And hoped. And waited some more. Come on, Jamie, she thought. Reply. Make contact. If they could just connect, somehow bridge the distance of this canyon growing between them, they could figure out the rest.
Brynn watched the other passengers exit the bus. Braid lady stood and hoisted a bag over her shoulder, then looked down to where Brynn still sat in her chair, staring at her phone.
“Maybe he’s in a dead zone,” the woman said and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Brynn tried to smile. She wanted to play along, but she was so tired of pretending.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But thank you anyway.”
The woman’s smile, however, didn’t falter, and the sight of her as she looked back at Brynn one last time before exiting the bus gave her a final glimmer of hope.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.
She counted to a hundred and would have kept going if the driver didn’t insist she get off the bus.
Nothing.
How, after everything she’d said, could he push her over the edge? Did Jamie want her to choose Spencer just to prove himself right? Because nothing had changed, not for Brynn, at least. She’d made her choice.
Even if Jamie didn’t chase her down, if he let fear win, Brynn was done lying to herself and to everyone else about how she felt. She owed someone the truth, and right now there was only one person here who would listen.
She tapped on her most recent text and typed a quick reply:
Hey, Spencer. I’ll see you at eight.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jamie knew the first thing he would purchase when he got to L.A. A Bluetooth headset. He couldn’t stand the people who walked around the city looking like they were talking to themselves, but now that cities and states across the nation were making hands-free phone usage laws—and seeing as how he could have spent the entire drive convincing Brynn that he was wrong for pushing her away and that everything about them was right—he could use a freaking hands-free headset.
He tried calling her before he left Holbrook, but it went right to her voicemail. He didn’t exactly want his big Eureka moment to be a recording. Jamie thought about stopping more than once along the way to try calling her again, but that would only get him to L.A. later, which didn’t bode well for him professionally or personally.
Now here he was, eight p.m. already, and checking in at his hotel. Jeremy had texted that everything went well and they were all set for tomorrow. Brynn had texted, too, only to let him know she made it safely, and he was at the very least relieved to hear that. Now he just had to find her.
“How long will you be staying with us?” the woman behind the counter asked him.
Jamie peeled his eyes from his phone. “Just through the weekend. I head back to Chicago on Monday.”
She handed him a pamphlet with a folder that held his room key, but all he could focus on was whether or not he’d be leaving here Monday alone.
“Checkout is at noon,” she told him, and he nodded his understanding. She smiled warmly, but he could barely muster the same in response. He just wanted to get upstairs, throw his crap in his room, and find Brynn.
He glanced to his left, at the swanky bar in the equally swanky hotel he had hoped he wouldn’t be staying in alone. Jamie had promised himself that by the end of the trip he’d tell Brynn how he felt, and if things went well, maybe he’d get to spend the night with her in a place like this. He did the first part—the telling—but then
he fucked it all up.
His eyes landed on a group of people standing near the bar’s entrance, only about twenty feet away. Specifically, they landed on the back of a woman who wore her hair in a braid that fell over her shoulder, exposing the bare back of her black halter dress. She was deep in conversation with a man in a suit, and Jamie laughed quietly to himself as he noted his own attire—a T-shirt and a pair of jeans that were getting ready to walk themselves to the hotel room’s laundry bag.
Something tugged his eyes up once more, and his gaze locked on the woman’s back. A momentary pang of guilt rose inside him as he saw his attraction to this stranger as some sort of betrayal to Brynn. But then it clicked. The guy in the suit—the tailored suit that only a dude from L.A. could pull off—Jamie recognized them both now. And the man staring back at him recognized Jamie, too.
Jamie’s jaw ticked as he woke up his phone and pulled up Sleepy Jean from his contact list. The guilt vanished as he pressed send and waited.
The woman in the halter dress reached in her purse and pulled out her phone. She hesitated—fucking hesitated—before answering, and that small reaction was enough to crack Jamie’s heart wide open.
“Jamie.”
But it wasn’t his name he heard, not at first. It was Spencer’s low hum of a voice, caught in the few seconds of delay from Brynn answering the call and actually speaking.
“…knows you’re staying with me, right?”
He remembered Spencer’s text, the one he shouldn’t have read. He’d booked a room for them. And then Jamie put her on a bus. He let out a long breath, but he couldn’t form a single word in response. Spencer’s eyes found Jamie’s, and he tapped Brynn on the shoulder and pointed behind her. She turned.
Nope. Jamie was wrong. This cracked his heart wide open. Even in that awful Cubs T-shirt, pajama pants, her glasses, and a bun on top of her head, Jamie thought Brynn was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But tonight she was magnificent, and the only thought in his mind was that she dressed this way for another man, one she was staying with tonight.
She took a step toward him, but Jamie held up his hand.
“It’s okay, B,” he said, his voice hoarse but at least able to articulate a few words. “I wanted you to be happy, either way. This was what I wanted, right? For you to figure this out. A heads-up you were staying with him would have been nice, but what’s done is done, isn’t it?”
We’re done, he thought and started backing away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not yet. Because as soon as he looked away, broke that last semblance of connection, they really would be done.
“Jamie…” Her voice pleaded with him. She moved in his direction again, but something in his gaze must have stopped her because she only made it a couple of feet. “We should talk about this.”
Spencer guided the two other people in their group farther into the bar.
“You’ll miss your party,” he said. “Or whatever it is.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and felt that his stubble was getting close to being a beard. Had he really not shaved all week?
“It’s just dinner,” she said quietly. “I only came here to tell Spencer… Shit. Can we talk after, maybe? I just think—”
“It’s been a long day,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I should really just crash.”
Now she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, giving him the look. It was the same look his mom used on him and his brothers, the one that said, I have fucking had enough. Not that he could ever picture his mom saying fuck, but in his head, he’d known she’d meant it. Brynn had had enough, and so had he.
“I can’t do this anymore, Brynn. He wins, okay?”
He lingered for another few seconds, long enough to think twice about begging her to reconsider, but he tucked the thought away. He wouldn’t ruin this night for her no matter how much it had been obliterated for him. Because, broken heart or not, he still wanted happiness for her.
“Good night, Brynn.”
She stood there, mouth open and poised to respond, but said nothing. So he disappeared around the corner where he found an elevator about to close and squeezed in just in time.
Just in time to run, he thought. He was getting damn good at this, and he hated himself for it.
Jamie did have work to do, but it would have to wait until morning. He had only one plan for this evening, and it involved a quick phone call to the concierge.
“Sure, Mr. Kingston. We can charge the bottle to your room.”
Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. The room-service attendant was a guy not much younger than him, and he smiled wryly as he handed Jamie the pint of Jack. Just enough to get him through the night without making him useless in the morning.
“Here,” Jamie said, handing the kid a tip. “You can keep the glass.”
Jamie closed the door and seconds later collapsed into the chair by the window that looked out over the pool. He unscrewed the bottle and held it up as if to toast himself.
“Well, Jack, I guess we meet again.”
At least he wouldn’t spend the night completely alone.
…
“Staying with you?” Brynn whirled to face Spencer, the boy—now the man—she’d fantasized about, put on a pedestal for ten years, and here she was, yelling at him.
The confidence in his blue eyes wavered for only a second, but Brynn saw the way her anger could slice at someone, especially one who didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. That was Spencer now, and it had been Jamie two weeks ago.
“Shit,” she said. “Shit. Spencer, I’m sorry.”
Her eyes stung, and her head pounded. She reached for the flesh-colored bandage that replaced the square of gauze she’d worn all day. Spencer hadn’t asked her about it, and she was glad of it. Just seeing Jamie, though, and the weariness in his eyes, made everything in her pulse. Pain, love, passion, complete and utter fury—he ignited it all, her heart racing as she realized she’d just let him walk away from her.
And then this man whom she barely knew, who was the boy on the pedestal, smiled at her.
“You’re not staying for dinner.”
Brynn shook her head.
He chuckled softly. “And it’s safe to say I was a bit presumptuous about you staying in my room. I’m sorry, Brynn. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
She had to hand it to herself. She really could pick them. Spencer was Mr. Perfect in high school, and here he was, living up to that label once more. She could tick off the list like Jamie thought she would. Spencer was gorgeous, successful, understanding, and he wrote books. Books! On paper, yes, he fit the profile—ten years ago and today. The only difference was that Brynn wasn’t blind anymore.
He wasn’t perfect for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, even though her whole point in coming to dinner was to say exactly that.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. I admit I am disappointed but not surprised.”
“You’re not?” she asked.
He walked her into the lobby.
“I had the biggest crush on you in high school,” Spencer said. “But I always figured you and Kingston were a thing.”
She sputtered. “You had a…I’m sorry did you…a crush on me?”
He smiled. “Don’t sound so surprised. It’s not like I was the only one.” He nodded toward the upper floors of the hotel.
Brynn crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”
Now Spencer was laughing. “Hey, remember how the boys used to show they liked the girls in grade school?”
“What, like hair pulling and hitting?”
He shrugged. “I think we’ve come a long way since then. Not like we don’t still have a ways to go. Took me until the reunion to make my move. I imagine it gets more complicated when you have a history.”
Brynn grabbed his hand and squeezed. “God, you really are the whole package, aren’t you? And I suppose because you are this amazing
guy you don’t think I’m a horrible person for the way I behaved at the reunion and for coming here now just to tell you I’m in love with the guy who brought me here. I guess I have a funny way of showing how I feel, too.”
Spencer squeezed her hand back. “No. I don’t think you’re a horrible person. You just finally saw what the rest of us did ten years ago.”
She really wanted to punch Jamie or pull his hair or something, not just because she loved him but because they’d wasted ten years pretending.
“Good night, Brynn,” Spencer said. “It was good to see you.”
“Good night,” she said. “Good luck with the book.”
And that was that. She had traveled over two thousand miles to chase the guy who was sitting next to her the whole time. And now, because he was stubborn and scared and selfless and, well, perfect for her in every way, she had to chase him some more.
As Spencer turned back toward the bar, Brynn pulled out her phone. Jamie let the call go to voicemail. She groaned and tried again. Five rings and still no answer.
“Shit!” she said, not caring about the volume or level of distress in her voice or that she seemed to have no other word to convey anything she felt this evening.
She hurried up to the desk where the hotel attendant had been eyeing her, Jamie, and Spencer through the whole exchange.
She smiled, but it came off as more of a sneer.
“I’m not at liberty to give out other patrons’ room numbers,” the woman said before Brynn could ask. “And based on what I just witnessed, I don’t think that gorgeous, rugged man I sent upstairs wants anything to do with you.”
Gorgeous, rugged man? Not that Brynn was arguing, but that was her gorgeous, rugged man this woman was talking about.
“Please…” She focused on the woman’s name tag. “Victoria, this is an emergency.”
“Uh-huh.” She smirked. “Emergency. Yeah, still not giving you his room number.”
Brynn took a cleansing breath. Kill her with kindness, she thought.
