I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Aside from being on the boat and marveling at the lake, that shade of blue is the only thing that has brought me any sense of peace the last year. Telling myself that she made it to the hospital; that she had her baby; that she made it to wherever she was fleeing to in the middle of the night.
It’s what got me through this last year.
I couldn’t save Bennett, but I could save Rumi.
And now, the universe wants to fuck with me right when I sort of have my bearings and place her right in my path—constantly presenting me with the shit I try to keep behind me.
When she took the baby from the redhead, I knew it was hers. I didn’t see the baby’s face, but I just knew she was Rumi’s. It was in the way the baby melted against her as if it was secondnature; it was the way that Rumi instantly relaxed when the little girl was in her arms.
I’m not used to babies. Not used to being around them, and they usually make me uncomfortable. It’s not any fault of the babies—it’s amething. I’m not a small guy; I was six feet tall by the time I was 16, now standing at least five inches taller than that in my 36 years. The gym has always been a second home to me—aside from the last 15 months I’ve stuck to running and cutting wood—so the words “gentle” or “soft” have never been words to describe me.
But the way she held her daughter to her chest, made my whole body feel warm—not clammy and feverish like I’m used to, but as if my body was wrapped around hers, mixed with the conflicting yet conceivable feeling of protectiveness and safety that faded as quickly as it appeared when her eyes met mine.
That’s when I knew that she didn’t remember anything from that accident—she was barely conscious when the paramedics loaded her in the rig.
Uneasiness, distrust, maybe even fear—that’s what I saw when she looked at me, no evidence of recognition.
At least she’s alive. She’s safe. And hopefully, she’s happy.
And she better not be alone.
A flare of possessiveness wracks through me, hoping that whatever asshole left her alone in the first place didn’t come crawling back—that she found someone better, someone to take care of her and her daughter.
Not that I have any right to feel that way.
My phone vibrating in my pocket halts my pacing and my thoughts about Rumi, the lack of ringing a relief I didn’t know something so small could give me.
I see Luke’s name across the top, not surprised that his employees called him right after a strange man ran into the coffee shop, weirding them out enough to call their boss.
“Hey,” I say into the phone, my neck feeling warm as the second wave of embarrassment passes through me this morning.
“Jack?” Luke says into the phone, as if he wasn’t the one to call me. “I haven’t seen, let alone heard from you, in over a year, and the first thing you do barge into my coffee shop like you’re about to rob my baristas?”
If I didn’t know Luke, I may actually think he’s pissed at me, but I’ve known the Owens brothers since we were kids, Luke being just a few years younger than Bennett and me, and I know that tone in his voice.
He’s not mad; he’s amused.
“I was looking for you,” I answer, ignoring the smirk that I can’t see but am sure is on his face.
Luke is a spitting image of Bennett. With blonder hair and lighter eyes, he’s the human equivalent of a golden retriever. I didn’t know he had a serious bone in his body until he surprised both Bennett and me, taking charge of his own life—standing up against their asshole of a father—and opening up his own business instead of joining his father’s law firm.
I also didn’t think he was capable of anything aside from his usual happy-go-lucky demeanor until I watched him lose his brother.
Not that I actually stuck around here long enough to see much.
I haven’t laid eyes on Luke since Bennett’s funeral over a year and a half ago—when he punched that asshole of a father in the face for taking a phone call during the service.
I couldn’t even muster up the strength to go to the ribbon cutting ceremony of the coffee shop he opened on Bennett’s birthday—I was already holed up in my grandpa’s cabin with no intent of coming back.
He says something, but I don’t register it at first, my heart skipping a beat at the resemblance his voice has to Bennett’s. A beat of silence passes between us.
“You there?” Luke asks.
Before I let the grief take hold, I push it back into the corner of my mind where it belongs. “Yeah, I’m here.” I clear my throat, coughing into my fist. My feet start pacing the length of my truck again, needing to do something with this uncomfortable uneasiness coating my skin. “I’m back in town, and I thought I would stop by.”
“I was surprised to hear you’re back, from Ava no less,” he replies, giving a name to the redhead who looked like she wanted to bite my head off when I couldn’t take my eyes off her co-worker.
“Yeah,” I start, not really sure what else to say—I didn’t think past getting a hold of Luke, and now that I have my phone to my ear, and I don’t know where to go from here.
