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He looks down at the hand. “Can't draw up any new design plans.” He means for the motorcycles he designs. “Can't steer, either.”
I want to cry for him. To scream about how unfair it is, that Cross was almost killed for knowing something he hadn't even meant to find out. Instead I try to keep the pity off my face and say, “I know.”
He uses his right hand to give my hand a squeeze, and then he's looking out the window again as we roll through the valley. It's a sunny morning, with a crisp blue sky stretching over miles of vineyards. Even the grass beside the road looks especially vibrant. But the pretty day doesn't do much to calm my nerves. After what I learned yesterday from Cross, I've got a lot riding on what Hunter tells me. I think all three of us might.
“So in and out?” Cross asks, tapping his right hand on his knee. “Wham bam?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrug. “You said you didn't mind—remember? And it's worth it. I promise.”
He shrugs. I can tell he's down, and I wish so much that I could help more. We're almost there when he says, “Change of subject.”
“Okay.” I wait a beat and he blows his breath out of puffed cheeks.
“Suri likes me, doesn't she?”
His question throws me off so much, I actually cough. It's everything I can do to keep my eyes from widening. “You think so?” I ask neutrally.
“C'mon, Liz. Shoot straight with me.”
She does like him. I’m ninety-nine percent sure.
“Fine. Then yes. I think maybe.” I'm breaking the girl code by telling him, but Cross is as good a friend to me as Suri is, and he's got enough drama in his life at the moment without having to wonder about that.
Cross sighs. He looks out the window, at the vines, and I can tell he's not going to say anymore right now.
We're on the last stretch of the dusty little road to Hunter's octagonal home, and I'm getting nervous. Nervous about taking Cross back here to the site of his accident, and nervous about coming here myself. But Cross wanted to come with me. In fact, he insisted.
I'm quiet as we pass the spot to the right of the road where the grass is black and frayed. Cross lets out a deep breath, and press my right arm into his left.
“You remember it, don't you?” he asks after a moment.
I nod, and he does something funny with his mouth—a thing he does when he's trying to push something down instead of show his feelings.
For the next fourth of a mile, I try to think of something soothing to say, and when I can't, I wrap my right hand around his left one, not threading our fingers together but enveloping his hand with mine. He leans his head a little my way on his head rest and closes his eyes.
I'm worried he's asleep as we pull into the driveway, but when I park and touch him lightly on the knee, he looks right at me.
“Wish me luck.” I force a smile.
“Good luck. And, Lizzy—thank you.”
“You're welcome.” I hug his neck, and out I go.
The belly bats are back in full flock as I walk to the front door. I've tried to get in touch with Hunter six times in the last twenty-four hours, and each time he's hit the 'ignore' button on his phone. I don't even know for sure he's here, although I did hear he was released after being questioned in Sarabelle's murder, and I know that he prefers his Napa place to Vegas.
I knock once, then twice, then three times before I try the handle. As my fist closes around it, it's jerked open from the inside, and I'm thrown off-balance. I bump into Hunter's beautiful bare chest.
The second we make contact, he shoves me off him. His eyes widen as he sees my face. “Libby.”
I nod, and my eyes rake down his body. He's shirtless in black gym shorts, and his bare chest is every bit as delicious as I remember. I pull my eyes up to his face, steamrolled by another wave of emotion as I think of all he's been through in the last day.
“Hunter, hi.” I swallow, because suddenly my throat is dry and tight. “I tried to call you.”
“I know.” He looks put out, but now that we're face to face, I'm not nervous at all. I want him so much, and I'm so worried for him, I just can't be.
“How are you? I heard that you were officially questioned in Sarabelle’s disappearance.”
I search his eyes for some sign of how he's doing, but they're carefully blank. “That's kind of you, but I'm still standing.”
