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“It’s not about giving up.” Though he didn’t expect Hope to understand that. He’d checked up on her a few times since the accident, and every single time he was amazed at the things she’d accomplished. Life had kicked her in the teeth and she’d come back swinging. She’d taken two years off and then attended the University of Texas and graduated with honors. She ran her own successful consulting business to work with companies that wanted to set up scholarships and nonprofits.
She shifted to look at him. “It looks like giving up from where I’m sitting.” She continued before he could respond, not that he knew what the fuck he was supposed to say to that. “Are you happy?”
What the hell kind of question was that? “I’m getting by.”
“That pretty much answers that.” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “I should have come back before now to check on you—or at least knock some sense into you, since apparently you need some tough love.”
Check on him like he was her responsibility, when the truth was he was the one to blame for everything bad that had happened to her. “You worry about your own life and leave me to worry about mine.”
“Because you’re doing such a stand-up job of living it?”
He glared. “What in the fuck is that supposed to mean? It’s great that you’re happy—better than great. You deserve that and more. How I go about my business isn’t any of yours.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” She sighed, the sound so small that he wanted to wrap his arms around her. It was more than the sigh, though. They’d dated for two years back in high school, been each other’s firsts across the board. Apparently even after all this time, his body still remembered the feel of hers and craved it like crazy. He just hadn’t been aware of it until she was sitting here next to him.
That’s a goddamn lie.
The truth was he’d never stopped craving her in his arms and in his bed. He’d just stopped deserving her around the time John took his last breath. A person didn’t come back from something like that, and no matter how well Hope had done with her life, that didn’t change the fact that he’d taken things from her that were downright unforgivable.
Needing to get them onto solid ground—though he doubted that was a possibility at all—he said, “What’s brought you back to town?”
“Work. Sort of.” She pulled at the hem of her skirt, lifting the fabric enough for him to catch a glint of scar tissue on her calf. She hadn’t done it on purpose—that he was sure of—but the reminder still struck him cold to the core. Oblivious, Hope continued. “Mom and Dad have been talking about doing a scholarship for John for years. They got in contact with the mayor and the principal of the high school and the city council and basically whoever would listen, and they’ve got a fund set up. So I’m here to get the details ironed out and officially announce it.”
It made sense that she’d come back here for John. If he’d had a chance to stop and think since she showed up, he would have come to that conclusion on his own. Daniel quietly smothered the little voice inside him insisting that she’d really come back here for him. She hadn’t. End of story. Allowing himself the fantasy would only make the truth hurt more.
And the truth was that any possibility of a future between him and Hope Moore was as dead as her brother.Chapter ThreeHope should have known Jules had an ulterior motive for inviting her to dinner. As soon as she’d seen the cars in front of the house, she’d realized something more was going on, and she’d refused to get out of the truck until the other woman spilled. So she’d been able to brace for the knowledge that she’d see Daniel—as much as anyone could brace for seeing the man she once considered the love of her life.
Judging from the tension lining his shoulders, he hadn’t had the slightest clue that his cousin had been meddling. In fact, everything about Daniel seemed to be tense these days. There were new lines around his mouth—deep brackets that she doubted came from smiling—and it was obvious that he spent significant time in the sun from how dark his normally tanned skin was.
It didn’t detract from his looks, though.
Instead, it was almost like he’d been honed down and purged in a fire, coming out a leaner, meaner version of himself. Considering what she’d picked up from Jules, that was probably more accurate than anything else she could have compared it to. His thick black hair was longer than it had been, almost shaggy, and his dark eyes were downright haunted.
