I place a hand on top of his. I know I shouldn’t, but I need to. And I think he needs to be touched as well.
Slowly, his eyes travel from staring at the ground to moving up until they are locked with mine. A haze is cast over his eyes. They look like glass, and all I see inside of them is me.
“There was nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could have done. We were young. Drugs weren’t something we were familiar with. We didn’t know the signs. No one did. Especially not you.” I squeeze his hand tighter, letting him know I’m here for him. From now on, this is the way I want to be.
Real. True. The way we used to be.
“Why didn’t you go away to school like you’d planned? What changed?” I ask.
Adam looks down at our hands. I am holding his, but he is not holding mine. He slides it away and then takes a deep breath of air. Stepping back, he looks around at the house, then the field, and then back to me.
“When Brad was lowered into the ground, I couldn’t stop looking at his mom. Couldn’t stop wondering how many other mothers had buried their children. I wanted to make a difference. Being an architect? Designing buildings? That wasn’t going to keep kids out of the ground. Going after pieces of shit like Nico Martinez, that makes a difference.”
I look about the land where the homes are being built. “And this? These homes? What is this for?”
“It’s a way to keep his memory alive.”
A wave of nostalgia penetrates my heart. I have a memory of Brad and me on a porch swing with a notebook in his hand, his gentle voice reading the words he had written down.
“For when the day ends and evening’s bleak, may there be a home for all souls to find peace in the long dark of night.”
Everything Adam has done from the moment Brad died has been in his memory. His career, the way he lives his life, the time he spends building homes. He’s not the monster I thought he’d become. He’s a saint.
An angel to my devil.
Seven years of ignoring each other. Seven years of his callous attitude toward me, of me tormenting him with my antics that I knew drove him crazy. Seven years of wasted time all because I just didn’t understand him.
I walk a few steps toward him but stop so as not to get too close. Being close to him is not what I need.
“Adam.” His name comes out as a whisper. My words catch in my throat. “I don’t want to hate each other anymore.”
When I look up at him, those eyes of glass are shining with hope and despair and want and denial, all in one. I was so lost in the boy he once was when in front of me is a spectacular man who is so angry at the world for all the right reasons.
“Then, let’s not,” he says with a voice so low that I’m glad I’m standing close enough to hear. “And, for the record, it was never you I was angry with.”
I shake my head in disagreement.
Adam bites down on his lower lip, his eyes roaming around my face. “You’re better than this town. You were supposed to leave here and make something of yourself.”
I step back, a sick feeling taking over my stomach. What he’s saying is exactly what everyone thinks. I’m a nobody, a worthless bar rat who doesn’t know better. That is why I keep my passions to myself.
He reaches out and grabs my arms, pulling me back toward him. His chin dips down to mine, his piercing gaze steadfast into my soul. “I know now that I was wrong. That night in the station, you proved me wrong. Last week, you proved me wrong. Today, you shattered me with my ignorance. You’re still the same smart, savvy, crazy girl I did everything I could to see all those years ago.”
“I thought you were just being a good friend.”
“Nothing about what I was doing back then was being a good friend.”
My mouth falls open, and my heart literally stops beating. Okay, not literally, but whatever.
“What about now?” I ask tentatively. “Can we be friends?”
I watch as his body stiffens. Apparently, it was the wrong question to ask. He releases me and turns around. I lift my thumb and bite my nail. It’s not like I need more friends. I have plenty. Never have I ever had someone who didn’t want to be my friend. I’m pretty amazing, fun, extraordinary. There are people practically lined around the corner to—
“Do you want to get something to eat?” he asks.
I drop my thumb and look up to him. His back is still to me, but his chin is turned into his shoulder.
“Yes,” I answer too quickly. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”
He pulls his keys from his pocket and starts walking down the stairs. I look down at my paint-splattered yoga pants and tank top.
I gather my things and make my way toward his truck. “I just have to stop home and freshen up.”
He opens his door. “Don’t worry. Where I’m taking you, no one will see you for miles.”
chapter ELEVEN
We drive down Old West Highway, past the park where Victoria slammed my car into a tree and past the school where my dad teaches English Literature. Ahead, there’s an airfield that was once a military base but is now used for limited commercial flights.
The fast-food bag is warm on my thighs. We stopped and grabbed two cheeseburgers—his a double bacon, both with fries.
“Are we going to the airport?” I sip my chocolate shake up the straw.
“You really take this dessert first thing seriously.” He lets out a smile. A gorgeous sideways grin that makes me sip harder on my straw. “You don’t think I’d let you die on my watch, do you?”
“I’m having visions of you chopping up my body and leaving it in pieces along the runway.”
“Leah, that’s ridiculous,” he says as we pull up to a gate. “I’d leave you on Blackford Farm. There’s a large swamp uninhabited by animals and impenetrable to humans. I, however, have a secret pathway into it. They wouldn’t find you for weeks.”
I lean over and hit him, the bag nearly falling off my lap. “You’ve totally thought of this before!”
He laughs. It’s thick and booming. “I’m a cop. Chase enough bad guys, and you start to think like one.” He leans in and whispers out of the side of his mouth, “Don’t worry. I think I like you too much to off you.”
He gets out of the truck and jogs up to the gate. Using a key, he undoes the dead bolt and swings the massive gate open toward us. He hops back in the truck and drives through, only to get out again and return the gate to its original locked position.
I look around at the Do Not Enter signs and No Trespassing: Violators Will Be Prosecuted warnings. “Are we allowed in here?”
“I have a key.”
“And I’m sure it was given to you for a greater purpose than…what exactly are we doing here?”
This time, I get the full-teeth, even-glorious-in-the-dark smile. “Having dinner.”
I sit back and let him take the truck to a spot about a hundred yards off to the side of the end of a runway.
When the truck is parked, he leaves the key in the ignition and gets out, closing the driver’s door behind him. He grabs some blankets from the backseat and walks to the back of the truck. He unhitches the tailgate and climbs up to spread the blankets out. He jumps down and then comes back around the side of the truck.
With the back door still open, he unbuttons his jeans and is about to start on the zipper.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a tiny shriek.
His hands pause as he looks back at me. “Changing.”
“Oh, so you get fresh clothes, but I get to stay in filth?”
With a shrug, he replies, “They’re already in my truck.” He leans in the backseat and rummages through a bag. “Here.” He tosses me a T-shirt.
I catch the shirt and am instantly hit with the intoxicating scent of Downy, spice, and all-American male.
“Are you sniffing my shirt?”
“It stinks. Did you even wash this thing?”
“I thought I did. Give it to me.”
“No, it’s fine.” I wave
him off. “Privacy, please.”
Adam closes the door, and I take my tank top off. He’s on the driver’s side, by the back wheel. Out the side-view mirror, I can see him changing. Lean arms cross his front and lift his T-shirt over his head. His bare chest is laced with corded muscles and showcases the most magnificent shoulders I’ve ever seen. He looks like he can carry the weight of the world on his back and not stumble an inch. He’s barrel-chested but not like an ox. He’s statuesque and beautiful.
When he bends down to take off his jeans, I shimmy over the console. I use the controls to angle mirror for a better view. As the denim slides down his legs, I’m greeted with the incredible sight of thick, strong thighs clad in black boxer briefs. It’s too dark to make out how well those briefs are hugging him, but I’ll have to use my imagination. And my imagination right now is running wild.
He pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and throws a tank top over his chest. While he’s putting his construction boots back on, I throw his T-shirt over my head and watch it fall down my body like a drape. It’s not sexy or flattering in any way. I’m seriously considering putting my stank tank top back on.
My door opens, and with an outstretched hand, he takes the food from me. I step out and follow him to the back, and then I let him help me up onto the tailgate.
We take our seats, positioning our backs up against the rear window, legs outstretched over the blankets. He rifles through the bag and pulls out his burger and fries, and then he hands me the bag.
The food is on his lap, and a bottle of water is between his thighs as he leans his head against the window, looks up to the sky, lowers his eyes, and sighs.
With his face basking in the moonlight, I take in every impeccable feature—from the day-old scruff that lines his jaw that was once narrow and is now chiseled and refined to his thickened neck that signifies his sensual, deep voice. His almond-shaped eyes are framed with tiny lines on the sides. On anyone else, I’d say they were laugh lines. On him, I know they’re from worry.
His mouth parts, and those plump lips let out a breath, so deep, I can almost feel the weight being lifted off him and released out into the warm night air.
This close, it’s easy to compare the physical size of him to the boy I knew. He was always taller than me, but sitting next to him, I feel almost dwarfed by how he’s filled out.
With each passing week of me watching him lift and move, hammer and screw, it’s been hard pretending not to notice every dip and curve of his body. The muscles in his back alone are like a road map to the heavens.
Normally, if someone was sitting next to me in complete silence, I’d be begging to fill the air with conversation. Aside from being able to stare at him for as long as I’d like, this is also oddly comfortable. My world is filled with noise—boisterous, fun, lively noise that I thrive on. Yet right here, in this moment, I’m at peace.
I lean back and close my eyes. There is a slight breeze, and it tickles my skin.
A humming nearby sounds like a plane’s engine is idling at the end of the runway. The engine rumbles, the sound gathering volume and speed. It’s approaching, faster than I expected. With a loud rumble and a whoosh, it takes off, leaving wind to pass around our ears. My hair lightly flies off my face, and the adrenaline in my body pulses up into my heart, my stomach, and my eyes.
I look up, a smile on my face, an odd sensation passing through me. Maybe it’s because when I open my eyes, it’s not to the sight of a plane or the starlit sky, but rather to the gleaming moonlight reflecting in his stare. He’s looking at me with a rush in those irises as wild as the one in my chest.
He gazes down at my heaving breasts and up to my lips. I swallow, and with it, I suppress every wicked intention I have running through my head.
“Your food’s getting cold,” I say. Why? I have no idea. But it’s what I said, so I dip my hand into the bag and pull out my burger.
Adam grabs some of his fries and pops them into his mouth. When he’s done swallowing, he asks, “If you could get on a plane right now and go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
I slowly chew and think. “Colorado. Pikes Peak. You’re looking at me like that’s the wrong answer.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “You surprise me. Anywhere in the world, and you choose the Rocky Mountains.”
I shrug. “The song ‘America the Beautiful’ was written on top of that mountain. The view was so stunning that a poem sprang to life. I want to feel that. I want to see that backdrop. That, and I have this A River Runs Through It fantasy in my head.”
“That was Brad Pitt. You’re mixing up your heartthrobs.”
Leaning back, I balk at him in amazement. “Look at you, knowing your movies. Back in the day, I couldn’t get you to watch anything that didn’t have cops and robbers. What’s changed?”
“A girl,” he says nonchalantly. Then, he takes a bite of his burger.
“She’s not from here or else I would have known.”
He gives me the side eye. “You think you know everything that happens in this town?”
“You know I do,” I say pointedly. “Who’s the last girl you went out with?”
He swallows and answers, “Maggie, and she’s from Columbus.”
I watch as he continues to chew. I, on the other hand, can’t take a bite until I know more. “You see her often?”
“No. We dated for a while. It ended.”
He proceeds to eat while I stare at him, waiting for him to say more. He sees my wide-eyed, waiting-for-more-information look, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“Yes, but why did it end?”
He stops and thinks, reliving that time in his life. “She wanted a commitment. I wasn’t ready.”
I lean in. “What about now?”
He turns to me, and with a look in his eyes, as if the past just collided with the present, he says, “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m starting to be.”
It takes about ten seconds for me to realize that I’m not breathing. With a little cough, I nod my head and say, “That’s it then. You have to drive to Columbus right now and tell Maggie before she ends up with some consolation prize.”
His brows furrow. “What am I telling her?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “That you love her.”
His eyes shift to the side and then come back to mine that are just looking at him in bewilderment. “No. She’s not the one.”
“You really should start dating again. I can set you up. I mean, I’m like the Cupid of Cedar Ridge. With the amount of connections I’ve made, people should start naming their firstborns after me.”
That look in his eyes deflates, and his body withdraws. He abandons his half-eaten burger and throws it in the bag. “I don’t need your help with finding a date.”
“Correction. You don’t need my help with getting laid. What you do need is my help with finding a girlfriend.”
He puts an arm on the window behind us, leaning into me, and rests his other on his knee, which is now bent. His pointer finger is tracing circles around his thumb. “All right, I’ll bite. What kind of girl do I need?”
His broad chest is simmering heat into my shoulder. I swallow hard and try to dismiss how it feels to be caged in by him, my soft body enclosed by his hard one.
“Well, she’s smart. Educated. You don’t have time for incompetence. And she’s sweet. You see so much ugliness on the job that you need someone who sees what’s beautiful in the world. She’s kind and giving. Funny but not so much that she can’t relax. And she’s sexy but not in a show-off way. She conceals it, not showing others what she reserves for you in private. Because, let’s face it, you would not be the type to tolerate other men looking at what’s yours.”
I turn just slightly into him and get caught in the sight of his mouth and how his lower lip is lush and plump, so much so that I want to suck on it. His tongue slowly skims the inside of that full lip, and my skin ignites with electricity, the blood pulsating down my bo
dy. There’s a humming that is felt straight down to my core, and it accelerates with intensity, rushing down the runway. Faster. Stronger. Louder.
A plane takes off, flying directly overhead, causing us to blink and pull back. My hair is swaying in the wind.
I turn away and look straight into the night, the airport, the runway, and the Do Not Enter signs. I run my hand over the ridges on the black-coated floor of the trunk, feeling the heated surface and letting it radiate up my palm.
I blow out through my lips and run a hand over the top of my hair and down my ponytail. “So, yeah, I can totally set you up with someone.”
Adam is now sitting with his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees. He smiles and shakes his head. With a squint of his eyes, he asks, “What about you? You seeing anyone?”
“I am already in a committed relationship.”
He raises his brows in surprise.
“For the next forty years at least. That’s assuming, I retire in my sixties.”
He lets out a breath. “The bar.” With a low laugh, he smiles, almost to himself, and then furrows his brow. “When did you decide you wanted to be a bar owner?”
“Senior year of high school. I started working at The Bucking Bronco, and I fell in love with it. I know what you’re thinking. Of course an eighteen-year-old would love working at a bar, but it was more than that. It’s a place where people come to have a good time. What other job allows you to dance and talk with people and get paid for doing it? Don’t get me wrong; it’s hard work. There’s inventory, accounting, security, insurance, liability, constantly finding new ways to reinvent yourself, like with a new drink menu or new food item. Are the employees stealing? Are underage kids getting in? How do we keep up with the competition down the road? I mean, I lose sleep from thinking about it, and it’s not even my bar yet. But all jobs are hard, right? But are they all as rewarding? Wait, that came off wrong. You’re a cop—”
“I know what you mean. You’re supposed to do what you love.”
“Do you love what you do? Even when you’re dealing with scum like Nico Martinez?”
Wrecked Page 12
