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He turned and walked out the door, demolishing all her cherished dreams for the future with each step.

13

“Dammit, Jack, you ruined this for her.” Ernie had his hands clasped behind his back and was pacing back and forth in Jack’s parlor. Jack almost wished Ernie would punch him in the eye and get it over with.

“I swear I didn’t mean to. I know what Doug thinks, but there’s nothing going on between us.”

Jack sat in a leather armchair with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It was true that nothing was going on, but not because he didn’t want it to. He might have kept his feelings hidden from Constance, but his conscience was guilty, nonetheless.

“What were you thinking giving her driving lessons?”

“What’s so wrong with giving her driving lessons?” This was the part he didn’t understand. How had something so innocent turned everything upside down? “Besides, it wasn’t the driving lessons so much as the driving together that seemed to have him upset. And that, you knew about and agreed to.”

“You’re right,” said Ernie, pausing in his pacing. “The driving and lessons are beside the point. It’s the amount of time you were spending alone with her. It’s that fact that the lessons would let you spend even more time alone with her. Add that to your obvious jealousy of Doug and all those longing looks you give her when you think no one is looking, and it’s hard not to draw the conclusion that you were trying to win her away from Doug.”

Jack pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I was trying to help her with Doug. Ask her.”

“I would, but she’s locked herself in her room and won’t speak to anyone.”

Poor Constance. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Goddamn Doug was supposed to find some goddamn courage and make her his, not run away like a goddamn coward. If this was anyone’s fault, it was Doug’s for overreacting. But then why did he feel so guilty?

“Ernie,” Jack groaned at the floor, “I don’t know what you want from me. I swear I haven’t touched Constance, and I’m very sorry that what I did to help her backfired. I can’t undo it. All I can do is apologize.”

“What I want,” Ernie said slowly, “is for you to stay away from my sister. Millie and I will teach her to drive, and until then, we’ll figure out another way to get her to work on the days when we’re flying. You,” Ernie said, jabbing his finger at Jack, “will keep your distance. You will leave her alone and let her move on with her life. No more cozy chats. No more longing looks. You’ve already done enough damage. Am I clear?”

Turning, Ernie stormed out of the room.

“Ernie, wait,” Jack called after him, but it was too late. The front door slammed with enough force that the floor vibrated beneath him.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he made himself stand. His head felt like someone had set off a pile of TNT in it. He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at Doug, Ernie, or himself. What a goddamn mess!

Walking blindly, he opened his kitchen cupboard and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the back. Grabbing a large glass, he poured himself a hefty dram and took a searing gulp. His breathing slowed as the liquid burned its way down his throat. It took the edge off, but at the same time, it loosened things within him, things he didn’t want to examine too closely. Things that felt suspiciously like heartbreak at the thought of never spending time with Constance again.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the prickling heat of tears he refused to let fall, and he slammed his fist on the butcher block countertop.

He’d been so good, so damned good, holding himself back from acting on his feelings. And all of this had happened anyway. He risked losing his two best friends over what? Over a stupid misunderstanding. The day of that first driving lesson, he pulled back from the brink. And what good had it done?

And the worst of it? Underneath all his guilt and self-recrimination was this tiny bead of hope. Doug was out of the picture.

No. He wasn’t going to think about that.

Taking his glass to the parlor, he settled into an armchair with This Side of Paradise. He’d read it three times already and related a little too much to the disillusioned main character and his string of romantic failures. But even F. Scott Fitzgerald couldn’t take his mind off the night he’d just had. For hours, he sat nursing his drink and rereading the same page without absorbing a word.

Before he knew it, the lights had winked out in every house along the street, and the parlor clock struck one in the morning. He downed the last of his drink and closed his book. It was far past time for him to head to bed. How he’d sleep, he didn’t know, but he had to try.

With a groan, he pried himself from his armchair and headed for the stairs. Just as he reached the landing, the doorbell rang, making him nearly jump out of his skin. Who could possibly need him at this hour? The only thing he could think was that something had gone terribly wrong at the Pritchards and they needed his help.

He rushed to the door and opened it to find Constance glaring at him, her eyes rimmed with red.

“We need to talk.” She pushed past him and headed for the parlor.

“Now?” he asked, closing the front door and following. “Does your family know you’re here?” Ernie would murder him if he found out Constance paid him a visit in the middle of the night.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way. I waited until they were all asleep to sneak out and come over.”

She sneaked out of the house to see him? Didn’t she realize how dangerous that was for her reputation? Not to mention that it was completely out of character. She might have had a mischievous streak when she was young, but as an adult, she was Miss Responsibility.

“You shouldn’t have done that. What if you got caught? What would Doug think?” He didn’t want Doug in her life, but he knew that in the morning, she’d wake up full of determination to make things up. He sure as hell hoped she didn’t come here for advice on how to salvage things.