He paused and looked at me with something almost lucid behind the glaze of whiskey. "When a woman gets under your skin the way Mandy got under mine, nothing else matters, Crank. Nothing. You protect her or you lose her, and if you lose her…Well…" He lifted the bottle up to show me and then took a long swig. I got his message loud and clear.
Fox pushed himself out of the chair, unsteady on his feet, and shuffled toward the back office. "Finish the bike. I'm gonna lie down."
The office door closed and I was alone with Fox's words ringing off the walls.
You protect her or you lose her.
That was the part I'd been getting wrong. For weeks I'd been trying to convince myself that pushing Sara away was what would keep her safe. And every time I put more space between us I told myself it was for her own good.
But Fox hadn't kept Mandy safe by pushing her away. He'd kept her close. He'd built his world around her, and when she was taken from him it destroyed him because she was everything. The grief was proof of how much she'd mattered, and Fox would've chosen that grief a thousand times over the alternative of never having her at all.
If something happened to Sara while I was busy keeping her at arm's length, I'd end up in that same chair with that same bottle and those same hollow eyes. I'd become exactly what Fox had become—a man too broken to stand because he'd lost the only person worth standing for. And the worst part would be knowing I'd had her right in front of me and kept choosing to let her go.
I was in love with Sara Ducette, and no amount of logic or loyalty or fear was going to change that. Not Lightning's orders, not Andrew's shotgun, not Peter's memory. None of it. Damn the costs, damn the danger, damn every voice telling me to walk away.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed the message before I could talk myself out of it.
Garret: 6:38 PM: Meet me where we first met. 10 tonight. Make sure you're not followed.
I set the phone on the workbench and picked up the wrench and went back to the bike.
It was settled in my mind once for all.
Sara Ducette was mine, and the only way that would change is if she pushed me away again, because I was ready to tell her I was in love with her, and nobody was going to stop me this time.
21
SARA
Kip and I were on the porch drawing with sidewalk chalk when my phone buzzed. It was on silent mode, but I kept it close in case Mom needed something. But when I saw Garret's name on the screen my stomach did a little flip and anxiety shot through my chest. I picked it up and swiped to unlock and read what he had to say.
Garret: 6:38 PM: Meet me where we first met. 10 tonight. Make sure you're not followed.
I read it twice and my mind went straight to the river, the spot downstream from the old bridge where the bank flattened out into a wide gravel bar. Dad used to take us there when we were kids to skip rocks. He said it was the best thing a person could do when life had them flustered, and he'd taught all three of us how to find the flat ones and flick our wrists the right way to get them dancing across the water.
He'd taught Garret too, years later, during the summer Garret started coming around the shop to learn engines. I never knewit at the time, not until much later when I went there to blow off steam after losing a race.
That gravel bar was where Garret and I had found each other for real, not the flirting at the track or the stolen glances at the diner, but the actual beginning where we'd skipped rocks in the dark and talked until we ran out of words and kissed instead.
If he was asking me there, it meant something. I didn't know what, and I was afraid to guess. This sneaking around crap was childish, though I understood his hesitancy. Andy would never shoot Garret but he could draw attention. And my gut told me if one of my brothers drew too much attention Tony would notice and he wouldn’t be happy about it.
I typed back a fast response and hit send.
Sara: 6:41 PM: I'll be there.
I set the phone down and turned back to Kip, who was dragging a blue chalk across the concrete in wide messy circles.
"You want to go kick the ball, baby?"
He dropped the chalk and clapped his hands. "Ball! Ball!"
We went out into the yard and I kicked the soccer ball through the grass. He chased it with his whole body lurching sideways on every step, kicking it in directions he didn't intend.
I jogged after him and kicked it back gently, and he shrieked and took off with his arms pumping.
"Mama, kick it!"
"Go get it, baby." I was already winded as I watched him run. He scooped the ball up with both hands and threw it at me. It bounced off my shin and we both laughed.
