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“Of all the boneheaded moves…”
I glare across the console, though John probably can’t discern my expression, out here in the middle of nowhere with nary a streetlight for an assist. “You’ve already covered that.”
Elbow on the door, he pinches the spot above his nose. “Well, sorry. It is.”
“I’m not arguing, but Jacob is still my son.”
The sound his throat makes isn’t much more palatable than his words. He isn’t wrong, however. My panic subsided slightly when a quick search on my phone’s browser confirmed John’s assertion: even in Sin City, eighteen is the legal marrying age absent parental consent. “You don’t have to do this, you know? I can drive myself.”
Another scraping sound comes from his throat. “Your rattletrap through the middle of the desert? I don’t think so.”
My chest burns. “Just turn the car around. I don’t need this!”
I hear a puff of exhale and feel his study split between me and glances at the freeway. Warm fingers curl around mine on my thigh. “I’m sorry, Hollie. I’m just tired and—”
“Grumpy?”
He chuckles, a gravelly and stomach-stirring rumble. “You should be used to it by now.”
Somehow, I find a smile. “Getting there.”
He squeezes my hand before letting go. “I’m not angry about driving out there, but I am furious for what Jacob is putting you through.”
I nod slowly. “I probably will be furious by tomorrow, too. At the moment, I’m more afraid.” Knowing they couldn’t marry settled my mind for half a second—and then came the paralyzing fear that, upon meeting a brick wall on the marriage front, my starry-eyed son would disappear into the giant Southwest and I’d never hear from him again.
That can’t happen. I have to lay aside Jacob’s shredding words and make him see reason. There are better ways to handle his…I sigh…hisandReagan’s predicament. Worse, Jacob simply cannot go on the run.
My hand gets lifted and receives a brush of lips. “I know you are, and that’s why we’re doing this. I’m all in, Hollie.”
I’ve shouldered everything one-hundred percent alone for so very long.
What doesall inmean?
He lowers our hands to the console, comingling our fingers in a tightly woven clasp. I press my head into the leather rest. “I should have answered the phone sooner. Now, they’re a least two hours ahead of us.”
John’s grip conveys assurance. “As long as the girl’s mom keeps you updated on their location, we should be able to catch up to them.”
Jacob’s and my phones are too old and janky for the newer tracking apps, but I’ve longed for the capability many times. Had the option been available to me, perhaps we wouldn’t be in this situation.
“I’m surprised her family isn’t chasing her down.”
I turn. “Well, her father’s flight doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning, and her mom has some chronic illness and doesn’t drive.” But she wasn’t too sick to deliver a nasty tirade about my son absconding with her daughter.
“They’ll have to take a break long before Vegas.”
I sigh from the depths. I’m going to have to get used to the changes in my life.
John’s thumb rubs back and forth along the top of my hand, his touch soothing the ache. “Things will be alright, Hollie. At least you know he’s safe.”
“He’s on a dangerous freeway, at night, out in the middle of nowhere.” If only he were tucked in his bed at home, safe and sound, as he was this time last week.
John grunts. “Well, at least now we know he isn’t under the same roof as the guy who probably put drugs in his car and may have been on the delivery end of that brick through your front window.”
“You’re just Mr. Sunshine, aren’t you?”
Flipping the signal and checking his mirror, he slides over a lane. “That’s what they call me at work, you know.”
I deadpan a smile I doubt he can see. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”
