Page 114 of Where Roads Lead

“No,” he said, easing my fears with a single word.

“Then, how could it be your fault?”

“I told him that day, that day, that his tires were shot. I mean, completely bald. It’s a wonder he’d even let them get to that point at all.” He let out a shaky breath. “I told him that he needed to change them. Get it taken care of before he got hurt. He told me he’d handle it, and I took him at his word. And maybe it would’ve been fine if it hadn’t been raining that night.”

I held my breath, knowing that while I may never have met Matthew, he’d been important to Will, and that alone made me grieve for his loss.

“I guess he hydroplaned, right off the road. And if I forced him to handle it right away—if I’d just changed the damn tires myself, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Suddenly, a flood of images came to my mind, of Will taking care of everyone and everything that needed to be done in this town. Even me, even though I was just a stranger.

He constantly worried that if he didn’t do something, it wouldn’t get done. And now I understood why.

“Will,” I shook my head, “that’s not your fault. That was an accident. A terrible accident. You can’t even know for sure if it was because of the tires or not. Please don’t blame yourself for something that you couldn’t control.”

He stared at me, his hazel eyes looking exhausted from more than just the events of tonight.

“I guess we’ll never know for sure,” he said, holding my gaze until the moment felt far more intimate than I could handle.

Get it together. I told myself.

Will didn’t need me swooning over him and his pretty eyes when he was clearly going through something. I needed to be here for him. As a friend.

“You can’t take care of everyone all the time, Will,” I told him, trying to make him understand. “I know you think you have to, but you don’t.”

“I don’t always want to,” he admitted, a hint of a laugh forming on his lips.

I leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “That includes trying to clean my gutters at eight o’clock at night.”

“That’s different,” he said, face inches from mine.

“How?”

“It’s you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I want to take care of you.”

I sucked in a breath, aware of our knees touching, aware of the heat I could feel from where his shoulder touched mine, aware that he was staring at my lips.

Oh God, am I letting this happen?

Will leaned in, and I leaned in.

Yes, I’m definitely letting this happen.

His face was inches from mine. Less than inches. He went straight for my mouth, about to press his lips to mine and—

“Meooowwwww.” Creamsicle let out a pitiful yelp as he scratched furiously at the screen door.

Both of us jerked apart, staring behind us where my cat stood on his hind legs, as if he thought he could reach the door handle through sheer will.

“I should go.” He stood up, looking nearly as breathless as me.

“Yeah, I should, too,” I said, unable to look him in the eyes.

Had I just taken advantage of his vulnerability? I hadn’t meant to. I couldn’t handle it if that were the case. Or had he been complicit, just looking for comfort in a girl he knew was a month away from leaving for good?