Page 34 of Here We Go Again

I grip the steering wheel, nerves making my chest tight, as I ease to a stop outside the bar. I’m a few car lengths away in the only open spot, and I have a clear view of the door. With the rain, the streets are basically empty, except for one woman standing in shadow under the awning outside. She steps to the left, light from the window catching her profile, and I know it’s Becca.

I shift into park and glance into the back seat. I wish I’d thought to bring an umbrella. As it stands, all I have is the gym bag I left in the car earlier. I reach for it and pull out a hoodie, thinking Becca can use it to cover her head as she walks to the car. It isn’t far, but she’ll be soaked without anything to block the rain.

I turn off my car, about to make a run for it, but then a man steps outside and leans toward Becca. I pause, watching as he lifts a hand to her elbow.

She tugs away and shakes her head no.

I have no idea who the guy is, but she clearly doesn’t want him to touch her.

And that’s my cue.

“Becca,” I call as I jog toward her. I step under the awning, intentionally placing my entire body between her and the other man. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she says, and I can see the relief on her face. “Thanks for coming.”

“I would have called you an Uber,” the guy says from behind me. “You didn’t need to call someone.”

I look over my shoulder, raising my eyebrows at him, and he retreats a step, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“You’re wrong,” Becca says. “I did have to call someone. You made it clear you were done. So we’re done. I’m no longer your concern.”

This guy is the boyfriend? Or ex-boyfriend now, by the sound of it. Is that why he’s here? I give him another look, this time with new eyes. He’s maybe six feet tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He’s wearing a cheap suit but an expensive watch, and he’s staring at Becca with an expression that’s half frustration, half guilt.

His presence raises a lot of questions, but at this point, the answers don’t matter. Nothing is more important than getting Becca somewhere dry and warm and safe. At this point, those are my only priorities.

“Let’s go,” Becca says to me, and I nod, lifting the sweatshirt.

“It isn’t much,” I say, holding it over her head, “but it’s better than nothing.”

“Becca, I really am sorry,” the guy says before we step out from under the awning.

She doesn’t even look back.

I stay with her, shielding her as much as I can until she’s in the car, then I sprint around to the driver’s side and jump in, tossing the wet hoodie into the seat behind us.

“I should have grabbed an umbrella,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

She rubs her hands down her arms, wiping away the water that accumulated on her skin. She’s wearing a short black dress, her arms and shoulders bare. I let my eyes travel over the length of her, and for a split second, I drink in the sight. So far, I’ve only seen her in scrubs. She looks great in those, but this … she’s stunning. Even with rainwater dripping off the ends of her hair, it’s hard to pull my gaze away.

“Please don’t apologize,” she says. “I’m sorry I even called you. I just didn’t know what else to do. Rory picked me up, which means I didn’t have my car, and Mia got called into the hospital for a shift, so she was no help. And I’m locked out of my Uber account, and I don’t have any cash…” She sighs, and her shoulders drop. “Sorry. You don’t need any of those details. The point is, I don’t know very many people in the city, and I really, really needed to not be around Rory anymore.” She takes a deep breath. “Anyway. Thanks again for coming.”

“I’m glad you called me,” I say as I start the car. “I only live a few blocks away. It wasn’t a problem to come.”

She nods, her gaze on her lap. She looks exhausted, and I feel an impulse to take her home, put her in dry clothes, and make her some soup. I don’t even know how to make soup. But I’d learn for her.

I turn on my blinker, then ease us into traffic. “So … your boyfriend was here?”

She breathes out a sigh. “Ex-boyfriend, now. He was here for a business dinner and had a few hours before his flight to New York tomorrow.” She lets out a little chuckle. “Turns out a few hours is all you need to tell your girlfriend you’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

“Ouch,” I say, even as my heart flips over in my chest. I am not happy that she’s hurting. In fact, I’d like to turn the car around and drive back to the bar just so I can punch her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—in the nose.

But I can’t ignore what else this means.

Becca’s single.

I will not make this about me. Not now. But the hope surging through my chest draws my feelings into sharp focus. If I had any doubts about what I wanted after our conversation this afternoon, those doubts are all but completely gone now.

I want this. Her.