The memories of Nate must’ve thrown her off.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked.
“A couple of days at most,” she said, thankful he’d chosen to stay on topic.
“You know what I’m up against here. And you can’t afford to throw this opportunity away.”
Lane didn’t say anything.
“I’m going to have to be able to get ahold of you,” Marshall said.
“I’ll keep my phone with me.”
“I already talked to Ashton about another meeting. We gave him just enough to entice him to come back and hear you deliver it the way we’d planned. I asked him if we could have until Monday.”
“And?”
“He said they’d hold off making decisions until you were available.” Marshall grinned. “And I think I can hold JB off too.”
Monday. That was a week away. Nate would be better by then, though. That should be fine.
“Thank you, Marshall,” Lane said. “For getting me a second chance.”
“Of course.” He pulled her into a stilted hug. “Just hurry back, okay?” He kissed her, but she barely responded. They were at work, after all, and frankly, she had other things on her mind.
She rushed out of JB Sweet & Associates, mentally packing for her trip to Harbor Pointe and willing away the deep sense of dread that had balled itself into a tight knot at the base of her stomach.
CHAPTER
3
RYAN BROOKS WOKE UP in a hospital bed in a small room at Harbor Pointe Hospital.
“You’re awake.” A tall, thin nurse with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing pink scrubs and round glasses, eyed him from behind the computer screen. Her name—Elaine—had been stitched onto the scrubs top. “How are you feeling?”
He wasn’t sure. The last thing he remembered was sitting on a bed in the emergency room. He winced as a sharp pain shot through his temples and across the back of his skull.
“Headache?”
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are, tough guy,” the nurse said. “You were admitted last night for observation—do you remember that?”
Vaguely. “Yeah.”
“And you remember the accident?”
“Do you know how my friend is?”
“Right now my only concern is you.” She entered something on the computer, then came over to examine his leg. This hospital stay wasn’t pleasant, but at least he was conscious, and he didn’t think he could say the same for Nate.
“Do you know how long this is going to be?” he asked, doing his best not to sound like a jerk.
The expression on her face told him not to mess with her. “You could have been killed last night. The least you can do is let me check your stitches.”
Great. Could he ask her to hurry up with it already? He wanted to check on Nate. Last thing he remembered was seeing him rolled off on a stretcher into an ambulance—and his buddy wasn’t responding.
“They said you hit your head?” Her gravelly voice reminded him of a cartoon character, one who smoked too many cigarettes.
“I was wearing a helmet.”
“Doesn’t mean there was no damage. We did a CT scan last night, and you don’t have a concussion—”
“Great, so I can leave.”
“But the doctor is still going to want to see you before we let you go.” She gave him a wry grin. “You might as well sit back and relax. You’re going to be here for a while.”
“I’ve already been here for a while.” Ryan let out a long sigh and stared at the ceiling. His head throbbed and he felt groggy—probably from the beat-down he’d had from the pavement.
He rested his head back on a too-soft pillow and drew in a deep breath. That unmistakable hospital smell wouldn’t let him forget—even for a moment—where he was, and his memory, replaying images from the accident on a continuous loop, wouldn’t let him forget where he’d been.
The truck swerved over the line. Nate skidded across the asphalt. The sound of Nate’s bike slamming into the telephone pole as Ryan tried to regain control of his own bike, missing the same pole by inches.
Inches between him and death.
Again.
So many close calls and yet here he was, walking around with bumps and bruises while so many of his friends were six feet underground.
Something about it seemed unfair. He should be in the coma, not Nate. Not the guy whose family was probably pacing the hallway outside his room praying for complete healing.
Hadn’t Ryan left death behind on the other side of the world? Had it followed him back here from Afghanistan?
He shook the thoughts from his mind, willing away the images that seemed intent on tormenting him.
After the Kelleys’ traditional Sunday dinner yesterday afternoon, the topic had turned to the Cedar Grove vacation cottages. Nate’s dad, Frank, asked about the work it took to restore a dozen run-down cottages, and Noah wanted to know about Ryan’s investors.
“The deadline’s coming up,” Ryan told them. “They’ll be back to walk through the cottages in about a month, to check on the progress and make sure we’re ready for tourist season.”
“And heaven knows we need help with tourist season,” Frank had said. Both Frank and Noah Kelley ran businesses that heavily relied on tourism, just like many of the residents in Harbor Pointe. And they all knew tourism as a whole was down, since so many of the vacation homes had been bought up by people who left them vacant for much of the year.
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Ryan said. “Cedar Grove would help get new people in here.”
“It could be great for our economy,” Frank agreed. “I knew it was a good investment.”
He was one of the first to invest in Ryan’s dream. For the briefest moment, Ryan felt like the man was a proud father. Frank clapped him on the shoulder. Would Ryan ever be able to repay his kindness?
“I won’t let you down,” he said. “You or the other investors. I know you’re all counting on me.” They weren’t the only ones. He had a lot riding on Cedar Grove. He had the plans drawn up, yes, but there was still so much to do.
“You look exhausted, man,” Nate had said.
“Yeah, but it’ll be worth it.” Especially that first week after he opened—when he’d be hosting his most important guests.
“Back to the grind tomorrow,” Nate said, that goofy grin on his face. “You should probably make the most of the weekend.”
Ryan knew exactly what he meant. The two of them had spent hours riding over the last two years. They knew the highway with all its turns as if they’d committed them to memory. Riding made Ryan feel alive—it was about the only thing that did.
They drove along the lake, taking in the views, driving faster than they should, but when they passed the Harbor Pointe city limits and entered Newman, Ryan grew distracted. Newman with all its memories, its secrets—they whispered to him as soon as he saw Scooter’s, the red barn–turned–bar on the edge of town.
Every time they took this route, his whole body tensed until they cleared Newman on the other side.
They drove right past the high school, the ball fields, the trailer park, Ryan battling the memories he’d worked hard to bury the entire time. While Harbor Pointe oozed charm and drew in tourists from all over the Midwest, Newman, only miles up the highway, had very little to offer anybody. Even residents had to drive twenty minutes in either direction for shopping options or jobs.
How badly he’d wanted to get out of there.
They reached the next town, then the next, and Ryan could finally relax, but they’d have to drive back through on their way home.
Dusk. That golden hour when eyes played tricks, giving flat pavement a confusing shine and casting shadows on things that weren’t there.
But it wasn’t the time of day that had caused Nate’s accident, because shadows weren’t objects that came out of nowhere and forced other drivers off the road.
They’d just passed the sign for Newman
—five miles away. Maybe it was a memory of something that had slowed Ryan down, but Nate didn’t notice. His speed remained steady, putting a bit of distance between their two bikes.
If they’d been side by side when the truck in the other lane crossed the centerline, one or both of them would probably be dead right now.
Ryan flinched as the nurse rebandaged his wound. The gash in his leg was nothing compared to Nate’s injuries, and he’d known that almost immediately.
He’d watched, horrified, as the truck in the other lane veered just as it was about to pass them. Nate swerved to get out of the way, but he quickly lost control of his bike before colliding with the pole. Ryan also had to swerve to keep from hitting Nate, and when he did, he came down hard on the pavement, slicing up his calf and hitting his head on the ground. The impact, even with his helmet on, had been enough to knock him out for at least a minute.
If he thought about it, he could put himself back there, lying on the pavement, eyes fluttering open behind the darkness of his helmet. It had felt like waking up from a fog, like he’d been given anesthesia and there was still just enough in his system to keep him from feeling coherent.
He was pulling the helmet off without sitting up when the brake lights of the truck, now stopped in the middle of the road, caught his attention. The driver was probably going to pull over and park, come see how they were, call 911.
Ryan’s head throbbed, and pain shot through his right leg. Beside him, he could see Nate’s bike—what was left of it—but Nate wasn’t moving.
He tried to call out for help, but he didn’t have a voice. He didn’t have words. His head felt heavy and thick, difficult to hold upright.
The brake lights on the pickup truck flickered. Why wasn’t the driver getting out? The engine revved and it started moving. Was he just going to leave them there, like roadkill on the side of the highway?
I should get the license plate.
He squinted, trying to get a good view of it, but his eyes wouldn’t focus.
Blue Ford pickup truck. Rust around the back tire on the driver’s side.
Ryan opened his eyes, feeling as if the oxygen had just been sucked out of the room. The image of the truck in the middle of the road raced back.
Blue Ford pickup truck.
Newman.
Scooter’s Pub just a few blocks away.
In the waning light of day, he couldn’t be certain. He didn’t know for sure. Lots of people had trucks in Newman. Lots of people drove through Newman.
“Ryan?”
Without his realizing it, a doctor had entered the small room in Harbor Pointe Hospital. Ryan had met him last night but didn’t remember his name.
“How are you feeling today? Your breathing is labored and you’re sweating.”
Not from my injuries; from my memories.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Headache is all.”
The doctor took out a penlight and shone it in Ryan’s eyes.
His eyes refocused and he saw the man’s name tag. Dr. Tambor. Still didn’t ring a bell. Maybe he hadn’t been paying very close attention last night. “Do you know how my friend is? Nate Kelley?”
Dr. Tambor and the nurse exchanged a look.
“What was that for?”
“I’ll check on your friend’s condition,” Dr. Tambor said. “But right now I’m concerned about yours.” Were they trained to give that answer?
Dr. Tambor then asked a series of questions, which Ryan answered as best he could. All the while, Elaine took some notes on the computer.
“I’d like to run a few more tests.” Dr. Tambor glanced at Ryan. “Just to be safe. I want to rule out an internal bleed or bruising on the brain. I’m glad you were wearing a helmet, son.”
Son. Why did his stomach tighten at the word?
“Just sit tight and we’ll be with you soon.”
“I’m finished here too.” Elaine stood.
“Can you find out about Nate?” A thick fog seemed to have moved into Ryan’s head, like a cloud that covered the sun.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Elaine patted his arm. “You’re very lucky to be alive, young man.”
Ryan looked away. He’d heard that before.
And somehow he didn’t feel lucky at all.
CHAPTER
4
THE DRIVE TO HARBOR POINTE felt anything but familiar. Lane almost took the wrong exit twice. It had been years since she’d been back home, and if she was honest, she wished she could keep it that way. She glanced at Otis. The French bulldog lay in the passenger seat, snoozing happily. He had no idea what they were in for.
She’d left Harbor Pointe for Northwestern when she was eighteen. Her grades, test scores, and extracurricular activities won her a spot on the university’s freshman roster and a substantial scholarship. People could say what they wanted to about Lane Kelley, but no one could say she wasn’t smart. She felt like she’d just hit the jackpot. A ticket out of town.
Harbor Pointe might be a quiet escape for most people like her, people with demanding jobs and little rest, but it was the exact opposite for Lane. Every bad memory she had was rolled up in one big ball squarely positioned at the center of Harbor Pointe.
She’d been born in the wrong place, she was convinced—and her quick acclimation to city life proved it. Since graduation day, work had been her only priority. Somehow she’d deluded herself into believing she’d never have to face this place again.
She should’ve known better.
In her backseat were two bags packed with whatever necessities she could grab on her way out the door, including a half-full bag of food for Otis.
She hadn’t intended to get a dog. In fact, she didn’t really like dogs, and whenever Otis licked her, her skin broke out in hives. But she had to admit this tiny creature somehow made her feel less alone. Chloe must’ve known she needed that.
The woman who was paid to assist her really had become one of Lane’s only friends.
She realized how pathetic that was.
When Chloe had shown up at Lane’s door with Otis, both wearing matching puppy-dog eyes, Lane distinctly remembered the question What is she thinking? racing through her mind.
Chloe’s eyebrows drew down in a pitiful display. “My landlord won’t let me keep him.”
“Why are you bringing him here?”
“Because you own your loft,” Chloe said, crossing the threshold into Lane’s apartment. “And because I thought you might like him.”
Lane found out later that Chloe had purposely found this dog at the shelter and brought him straight over to Lane’s house. He’d been a gift—a thoughtful one. Lane had hired a dog walker to take care of the creature during her long work hours.
Chloe knew more about Lane than Lane wanted to admit. For one thing, she’d suspected Lane’s relationship with Marshall almost from the beginning and hinted that she knew about it. But she’d never told a soul and, from what Lane could see, never judged her for it.
She’d also tried—more than once—to probe Lane about her family. Lane had managed to stay tight-lipped. No sense dragging her assistant into the crazy mixed-up world Lane had all but exited. But more than that, she understood the things Lane didn’t say. She must have sensed Lane was lonely or decided she was pathetic, but either way, Lane had gotten Otis out of the deal.
And that had turned out to be a very good thing.
She did her best to stay focused on the road, but her mind hadn’t settled down since she hung up the phone with Jeremy.
She’d been reliving the last time she spoke to Nate, two Christmases ago. He said he was in town to visit friends and wanted to say hi and beg her in person to come home this year.
“Don’t you miss it at all?” His face was so earnest, the kind of guy you knew was good just by looking at him. “You can’t stay away forever.”
Watch me.
He’d taken her silence as the hint that it was and changed the subject, then spent the rest of their visit catch
ing her up on his—and only his—latest news. The rest of it, she didn’t want or need to know. She gave him a vague breakdown of her life—loft apartment in Chicago, worker bee at JB Sweet with hopes of one day being named creative director, no relationships to speak of (who has time for romance?). She left out the parts about her insomnia and her obsessive relationship with the elliptical machine.
Before Nate left, he stood in her doorway like an awkward teenager not sure what to do next. He turned to her—earnest eyes—and asked once more. “For me, Lane? Come back for me? It’s not the same without you.”
Years of sitting on the roof waiting for Nate to come home from whatever social outing he’d been at flashed through her mind. He’d always been so popular and well-liked, and he’d always told her to come along with him. They were only a year apart in age—it would’ve been a natural fit. “I’ll make sure you’re not stuck alone in some corner.”
She’d never gone. Instead, she spent her weekend evenings throughout high school reading—on the roof outside her bedroom when the weather was nice enough. And when he returned, he’d crawl out of his window next to hers and answer her questions about the party, school dance, football game, or homecoming celebration he’d just come from.
Those conversations were, to this day, some of her favorites.
She was this close to agreeing, just because it was Nate asking. And when she said, “I’ll think about it,” she meant it, but they both knew better.
They weren’t close anymore—not like they used to be—and maybe that made her dread this trip all the more. It was obligation, not heart, that brought her home.
The thought shamed her. Nate had proven his loyalty to her in a way no one else had, but she’d tossed his relationship out on the trash pile with the rest of them.
It was unfair, but she hadn’t thought so until now, in the face of tragedy. What did that say about her?
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder and Otis sat up. She glanced down and saw that it was Chloe, who’d been instructed to keep her updated on any important developments in the Solar campaign. Or anything else at the office Lane should know about.
Just Look Up Page 3
