“Marshall, I’ve only been here for a few hours.” Her mother’s words rushed back at her. While she rarely agreed with her mom about anything—often just for the sake of disagreeing—the woman did have a point. If Summers Cheese Shop could take care of its employees, JB Sweet could take care of her. She’d never missed a day of work for anything until now. She didn’t like feeling guilty for it.
“I understand, but you know what we’re up against here,” he said. “You’ve worked so hard for this account. I’d hate to see Innovate swipe it out from under you.”
Maybe Innovate is more cut out for this one.
The words came out of nowhere and she swatted them away. She didn’t believe that, not for a second. She wanted this. She needed it. She’d earned it.
“And what about Miles? Word is, he’s working on a brand-new proposal.”
Marshall went silent. Probably trying to think of how to spin this one—or how to fire Chloe for being more loyal to her than she was to him. “It never hurts to have more than one idea. But Miles isn’t you, and his artistic eye is very limited. We know that, Lane, but if you’re not here, I can’t prove it to JB.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Did Marshall have any shred of human decency?
“Lane?” Marshall sounded irritated. “Did you hear what I said? Innovate is going after this one hard. You want this account, don’t you? This promotion?”
“Of course.” A buzz of nervous energy settled in her core. “I just need a couple of days here,” she said. Her stomach tied itself into a knot even as she spoke the words. It wasn’t what she wanted, to stay in Harbor Pointe—not even for a couple of hours, let alone a couple of days.
He sighed—a heavy sigh filled with subtext. “Take them sparingly. You’ve got some stiff competition here, for Solar’s account and for your promotion.”
She rubbed her temple firmly as if that would make the pressure go away. “I’ll check my e-mail and get back to you.”
Lane hung up and let her head fall back on the chair. She closed her eyes for a long moment, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. Worry hung within her mind over her brother, over the account, over lingering memories of Lindsay and Jasper. It was the worst possible time for her to leave the office, and yet—
Before Lane could finish her thought, something hit her in the face—hard. She opened her eyes and saw a giggling Jett only a few feet away.
“Got you!” he hollered as he ran toward a Nerf football, which she could only assume was what had smacked her.
“That hurt!” Heat raced to Lane’s cheek.
Jett picked up the football and turned toward Lane. She couldn’t believe it—this terror of a child was going to throw it again.
“Don’t even think about it.” She held up her hands defensively.
He giggled like a psychopath and pulled his chubby hand back. Lane turned away, closing her eyes, but no ball came.
She peered in his direction through her fingers. He stood poised to throw the football straight at her, but behind him loomed Ryan Brooks, his much-larger hand covering the ball.
Jett looked up at Ryan, an undeniably terrified expression on his face.
“That’s not very nice,” Ryan said. “You shouldn’t throw things at people—especially girls.”
Obviously.
Jett let go of the ball and ran toward a teenage girl who was standing off to the side, engrossed in her phone. A babysitter? Cousin? Someone Lane didn’t know.
Leave it to Lindsay to raise a little monster.
Ryan clapped his hand on the football like a man who’d played the game and took a few steps in her direction.
“Thanks,” Lane said.
“Jett’s not a bad kid,” Ryan said. “Just gets excited. Like a puppy.”
“Do you think they’ll enroll him in obedience school?” Lane touched her cheek. Still hot and probably swelling. Amazing a so-called soft ball could hurt so badly.
“You’ve got to admit, though, he’s got quite an arm.”
She shot Ryan a look and saw the lazy grin on his face as he tossed the football from one hand to the other.
She didn’t want to think about Jett. She didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten Lindsay’s wide blue eyes and Jasper’s full lips.
“Did you really say he shouldn’t hit people, ‘especially girls’?”
Ryan shrugged. “Yeah. Kid’s gotta learn.”
“Isn’t that kind of sexist?”
He stopped tossing the ball. “Nah, it’s chivalrous.”
Lane laughed. “Oh no. You’ve turned into one of those guys.”
Ryan eyed her suspiciously. “What guys?”
“The type who thinks a woman needs a man to protect her.”
“Oh, is that what I’ve turned into?” He raised his eyebrows.
She shrugged. “Looks like it. I never would’ve thought it was possible, but—” She motioned toward him, moving her hand from his knees to his torso as if his entire person was all the proof she needed.
His eyes narrowed and locked onto hers. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those kind of women.”
“The kind who can handle herself? Yeah, I have.”
“The kind who won’t let a man be a gentleman because she’s intent on putting everyone in their place.” He tossed the football in her direction and though she tried to catch it, she failed.
“I see you’re still as clumsy as ever.”
She bent down and picked up the ball. “You didn’t give me any warning.” She tossed it back. He caught it—of course.
She glanced toward the corner where Jett had run for protection and curled himself around the teenager. He now looked startlingly sweet. What a little con man.
“How’ve you been, Lane?”
The question took her off guard. She wasn’t sure how to answer, not when it was Ryan asking. Even after all these years, she knew if she gave her canned, stock answer, he’d see right through her.
Lane’s mom whisked off the elevator and into the lobby, a not-quite-welcome distraction and one that only slightly eased the tension between her and Ryan.
“I don’t think she’s sat down once since I got here,” Lane said, more to herself than to him.
Her mom made a beeline for them but laser-focused her glare on Lane. “What are you doing down here?”
Lane could feel Ryan’s eyes on her, almost like he’d wanted to ask her the same thing.
“I had some work to do,” Lane said lamely.
Her mother stared at her. “Oh, Lane. You shouldn’t have to work at a time like this.”
Her phone buzzed. The slim device suddenly felt heavier in her hands. What could she say that her mother would possibly understand? Did she really need to remind her mom of all the reasons she might not want to sit in a waiting room with their family?
“Your dad and Jer are with Nate now. We want to make sure when he wakes up, he’s not alone.”
Ryan looked away, obviously thinking the same thing as Lane. She’d been around long enough to catch bits and pieces of her brother’s condition, and it didn’t seem that her mom fully comprehended the gravity of the situation. The question was, did Lane want to be the one to explain to her that it could be a while before they knew if Nate was going to survive at all? She pushed that thought straight out of her mind. That wasn’t going to happen. And she wasn’t going to entertain the idea for a second. Not even in silence.
“You must be starving,” her mom said.
“I’m fine.” Lane had ignored her growling stomach more times than she could count, but eating felt so silly with Nate in critical condition.
“Ryan, would you take Lane over to Hazel’s and make her eat something?”
“Mom, I’m fine,” Lane repeated, her cheeks flushing at the thought of going anywhere alone with Ryan Brooks. What would they talk about? It would be like sitting down with a stranger. And Lane had never been good at small talk.
“You haven’t eaten all da
y, have you?” Mom’s tone accused.
Lane looked away.
“Probably haven’t had anything of substance all week. And while you’re home, I’m making it my mission to see that you are well fed.”
“At a diner?” Lane and her mother obviously had different ideas of what eating well looked like.
“At a locally owned and operated restaurant with all kinds of wonderful choices.” Her mother’s tone was mock exasperated. “We call it farm to table, Lane. I would’ve thought someone as hip as you would’ve known that.”
“I know that no one says hip anymore.”
Dottie’s mock exasperation turned real. “You know what I mean.”
She did. And she also knew the importance of supporting the other local business owners—it had been a tradition in their family, and in all of Harbor Pointe, for as long as she could remember. Even in the city, Lane sought out small, family-run businesses. She supposed some of what she’d been taught had stuck.
“Ryan, you don’t mind, do you? You could probably use something to eat yourself. Unless your head is still bothering you. Maybe you should go home and lie down. I can call Noah . . .” Lane’s mom had turned into a ball of frenetic energy.
Ryan squeezed the football and avoided Lane’s glare. “I don’t mind, Mrs. K.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I am sort of hungry.”
“I knew I could count on you.” Her whole face brightened as she said it. “Lane, be nice to this boy.”
Now it was Lane who avoided looking at Ryan. She resented the implication that she would be anything other than nice, despite the fact that it only proved there were a few things her mother knew about her, even after all this time.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mom said. “Go eat. I’ll send someone over if anything changes.”
“Or you could just text us.” Lane slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Please, Lane. You know how I hate cell phones.”
Lane resisted the urge to sigh.
“It would do you good to put yours down once in a while too.” She stared at the phone in Lane’s hand as if that would punctuate her point.
Lane tucked it in her bag. “Happy?”
Her mom narrowed her gaze. “Only if I get a report that you eat the entire meal without looking at it once.” Dottie tried to pretend she was teasing, but Lane knew she wasn’t. Her mother had never mastered the art of innocent meddling.
“Mom, I just told you I’m in the middle of something really important at work and I can’t just ignore my respons—”
“I know,” she cut in and placed a maternal hand on Lane’s arm. “But everyone deserves to eat a meal in peace. Ryan, make sure that phone stays in her bag, would you?”
He lifted his hands—one still holding the football—in a position of surrender. “I don’t think I want to get in the middle of this one, Mrs. K.”
Lane groaned. There was nothing she loved more than her mother’s mothering. “I agreed to eat. Can we call that a win for your side?”
Her mom rolled her eyes in an overly dramatic fashion. “There are no sides, Lane. I’m on your side. I would think you’d know that by now.”
Something shifted at the back of Lane’s mind—a memory, shaken loose by her mother’s words. And just like that, she was twelve again. By then it was clear that where Lane was concerned, her father’s genes were more dominant than her mother’s—and the women on the Kelley side were “sturdy,” as the family called them. Lane wasn’t stupid. Most of them were fat.
Lane grew so quickly, her mind didn’t know how to catch up, and her lack of athleticism played a key role in her rapid weight gain during middle school, something that stuck with her throughout high school. She became an easy target.
How many times had she come home upset?
How many times had she found her mother unsympathetic?
“Oh, honey, I’m sure you’re overreacting,” she’d said. “You’re a beautiful girl, and anyone who says otherwise is just jealous. I think you’re being overly sensitive.”
The words were hollow and did nothing to comfort her. Not then and not over the next several years when she became known as “the fat Kelley” while every one of her siblings was athletic or thin and popular.
Maybe her mother really was oblivious. Or maybe she was embarrassed by Lane’s weight. One thing was certain—she didn’t stick up for Lane. Not once. Instead, she tried to explain away Lane’s pain. It was her way. Find some positive spin.
But when you were the one being teased, it was hard to find anything positive.
Lane hid all the way through high school, behind books, behind intelligence, behind her bedroom door, where she’d cried herself to sleep too many times.
But she wasn’t that girl now. She’d transformed herself into a completely new person.
She’d done all the things she’d set out to do—proved to herself and everyone who’d doubted it that she was worth something.
So why did she still find that so hard to believe?
CHAPTER
8
“YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO WITH ME.” Lane waited until her mom was gone before speaking to him.
Ryan watched as she packed up stacks of papers and notebooks and other things she’d spread across the table. Things that seemed very important to her, important enough to keep her down here instead of upstairs with her family. “I said I would.”
“Do you always do everything you say?” She asked the question lightly like it had an obvious answer.
She was about to shove her laptop into its case, but she stopped and looked at him. “Oh, wow. You do, don’t you?” Her eyes were crazy blue, practically glowing. She looked like she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Maybe she was working on controlling her snark.
“I don’t need a babysitter.” Lane zipped her laptop case around her computer.
“I feel like I’ve heard that before.”
She stopped and searched his gaze as if trying to put her memories of him back in order without all the pieces.
“You’ve always been kind of stubborn,” he said.
“You’ve always been kind of pigheaded.”
They glared at each other, Mexican-standoff style, for several silent seconds; then he finally took a step back and extended a hand in the direction of the front doors as though to say, After you.
She held on to his gaze, almost like she’d been challenged to look away and wasn’t about to fail, as she walked past him through the lobby toward the front doors.
Why hadn’t he told Mrs. K. he needed to go home and rest? She’d practically given him an out—why didn’t he take it? Because he found it impossible to tell Dottie no, like a son who wanted to please, who wanted to keep his place in her good graces.
Or maybe because part of him wanted to spend time with Lane?
They’d almost reached the exit when Lane stopped so abruptly he nearly ran into her. She stood, wide-eyed and staring at the door.
“Jasper.” She whispered his name, and if he’d been standing even a step farther away from her, he wouldn’t have heard.
Jasper Grant walked toward them, still dressed in his suit from work. Ryan noticed that he barely glanced at his son, who was clicking through the channels on the television in the waiting room in an especially annoying way.
“Lane?” Jasper’s stare matched Lane’s.
She seemed frozen, incapable of moving.
Ryan waited for her to say something, but she only stood there. After a long tense moment, he spoke. “Hey, Jasper. Everyone’s still upstairs.”
Jasper didn’t respond. He seemed unable to pull his gaze off of Nate’s sister. Nate’s sister who was not his wife.
Then, inexplicably, something came over Lane. She straightened, lifted her chin, and dropped her shoulders, attention fully on Jasper as she did. “Jasper.”
“You look amazing,” Jasper said inappropriately. His eyes darted to Ryan, then back
to Lane. “How’ve you been?”
“We were just heading out,” Lane said coldly. She glanced at Ryan. “You ready?”
“Sure.” He glared at Jasper, then finally followed Lane out the door.
Outside, Ryan had to jog a few steps to catch up to her. She’d gotten farther than he would’ve expected in the heels she was wearing. When he reached her, he could see by her expression that coming face-to-face with Jasper had unraveled something inside her, but he could also tell by her body language that she did not want to talk about it.
“Are you okay?”
She shrugged. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He should feel comforted that some things about Lane hadn’t changed. She was still as stubborn and serious as ever.
She walked quickly—like she was being chased by something—and after several minutes of that nonsense, he purposely slowed down. When she noticed he’d fallen behind, she stopped and looked at him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
She didn’t answer.
“This isn’t Chicago—you can slow down.”
She huffed off down the street. “I was taught to walk with a purpose.”
“Well, your only purpose right now is to relax a little bit,” he said.
“I don’t have time to relax.” She turned back toward him. “I don’t really have time to be away from work—especially here—at all.”
He watched as the weight of her own admission washed over her. Why especially here? Did she blame the whole town for her pain? To him, this place was like a safe haven—didn’t she feel the peace the second she drove into town?
“Sorry; I didn’t mean that,” she said, even though he knew she did. “It’s just been a long day.” She stared off down the street, the waning light of the sun illuminating her face and making her look even more beautiful. If that was possible.
“Is it hard being back?”
She pressed her lips together, his question standing between them like an elephant. “It’s fine. It’ll just be good when I can get back to work.” She clicked away, and he followed in silence. Lane had always been a tricky one when it came to her emotions. He couldn’t push her—she wouldn’t respond to his prodding. She never had. Instead, he’d just work on winning her over, one moment at a time.
Just Look Up Page 8
