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Emma’s sharp inhale made his stomach twist in anxiety. “I would have done anything for him. If he needed money, I would have sent it. If he told me he was having health issues, I-I would have—”
“It wasn’t your job!” he snapped angrily. His father had been his responsibility. Emma didn’t deserve to have anything or anyone tying her down. That was what his father and Link had both wanted for her.
“Why? Why do you think this was all on your shoulders?”
“Because he was my father.” He closed his eyes, immediately regretting the words.
Nothing but the rumble of the engine and the whistle of wind through the cracked window made a sound. Emma’s eyes shuttered, her gaze glued ahead.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He tried to backtrack.
She didn’t respond. Just clenched her jaw, the hollow of her throat bobbing delicately.
“Em, he never wanted you to stay in Shattered Cove. He always said you were destined for bigger things, better places.” He reached out his hand to her thigh. The muscles tensed under his touch.
“So are you.” Her voice was raw, as if all the emotion she wasn’t showing was bleeding out from her throat, speaking as if she’d swallowed shards of glass.
His mind snagged on her words. Are, not were. “I’m just destined to take over the shop. Keep his legacy going.”
She shook her head. “We could use another guitarist. You could—”
He pulled his hand back to his lap. “What? Join your band? Follow in your shadow? Leave everything Dad built behind?” His voice was growing more and more erratic as the pounding in his head increased. Panic rippled through his body at the thought of abandoning it all. The last piece of his father. The only home he’d ever known. The only life he’d lived. His lungs squeezed tight. The walls of the classic car closed in. He’d only drag her down.
“We could figure it out—”
“There is no we, Em. You have your life, and I have mine,” he snapped. If they tried this out long term, not only would she get bad press and possibly have trouble with her label dropping her band, but in the end it would never work. He’d resent her for having to follow her around, not truly earning his spot, and having to give up his passion. Or she’d regret him and his need for small-town life.
“Right. How could I forget this was just fucking?” she mumbled, pain saturating every syllable.
Her words were like tiny spears puncturing his heart. He might have seemed stoic on the outside, but inside chaos was erupting. Pain and confusion. Fear and grief. Resentment and anger all roiled inside him like a whirlpool. They never should have started this. He never should have touched her.
He’d fucked up. And now, he needed to make it right.
29
Emma
It had been two days on the road with mostly silence. They’d gone back to renting two separate rooms. Link had made that decision without talking to her—just handed her a key for her own room. She’d squeezed the cold plastic key card so hard in her hand it left an imprint long after.
The first thing she’d done was get rid of all the razors in her room—removing the temptation like her therapist had told her so long ago. And when the distraction had failed, she brought out her guitar, playing until her hands were numb and her voice was hoarse. All night long. It made the hours she was stuck in the car with him easier if she slept. She wouldn’t think about the pain tearing through every cell. Not right now. She just had to survive this trip. And then . . . then she’d figure it out.
How could she have been so stupid to think this had turned into more than sex? Obviously, she’d been sorely mistaken. But what hurt more was the fact that Link had pointed out she wasn’t Solomon’s child. Had her papa felt that way too?
No. He loved me . . .
Did I let him down?
She swallowed the lump in her throat, biting on the side of her cheek, using one pain to distract from another. Nerves frayed, she stared out the window as the trees whipped by in the darkness. They were almost to the border of New Hampshire. They’d opted for a long, nine-hour drive rather than spending another night in a hotel.
“I’d like to get back to my own bed,” Link had said. More like he wanted out of this Chevelle prison that kept him with her.
She’d given him everything—every part of her that was worth something. She’d been good enough to fuck, but not love.
The headlights from oncoming traffic blurred.
No. Not here. Not now. She wouldn’t break down. She needed something. Just one moment of escape.
“Stop the car.” Her voice came out as a whisper. “Stop the car,” she repeated louder, her voice barely trembling.
