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She squealed and leapt from the rock and spun on her heels to face him, index finger pointing at him accusingly despite the grin plastered on her face. “Gotta catch me first.” She turned and raced away, Dean giving chase. She disappeared into the woods a few yards away that stood as a barrier between the house she grew up in and Dean’s childhood home.
Despite his much longer legs, she managed to stay a fair distance away. He lowered his head and kicked his burning limbs into overdrive as he closed the gap between them. He barely grazed her back and gasped out, “Uncle.”
Jillian turned and jogged backward a few extra feet as Dean hunched over and gripped his knees. “What’s the matter, Sparky, can’t handle a little game of tag anymore?”
He held up one hand and swallowed in between pants, desperately pulling air into his lungs. “I touched you, you’re it.” He looked up at the sky turning brilliant shades of pink, purple, and crimson as the sun began its descent. “But it’s going to get dark soon and we need to get back.”
She walked back toward him with a sympathetic “tsk” and patted his back as she passed. “It’s okay, I won’t tell your brothers a girl outran you.”
***
Jillian
Present Day
For the ninth time in just the last hour, Jillian held up her left hand in the small amount of light that seeped into the bedroom from the light outside the window. Even in the dark, the emerald at the center of the rose gold band shimmered and the diamond accents twining around on either side sparkled in return. It was a breathtaking ring, but it meant more given the circumstances.
She turned onto her side on the bed, completely incapable of finding a comfortable position despite the downy soft bedding and body hugging mattress. She assumed sleep was eluding her because of the zillions of time zones she’d hopped in the past seventy-two hours, but if she were honest, that was only one component.
Dean had been her best friend for nearly two decades and she knew without a doubt when her mother first contacted her, completely panicked, that Dean would be there for her even if this was a crazy idea.
And he had been.
She spun the ring on her finger again, a small corner of her heart aching at the fact she’d have to give it back when their charade was up. It was perfect. Exactly what she would have wanted from a fiancé if she were really engaged.
But that was Dean. Even though he’d been dragged, albeit rather without too much struggle, into a situation he didn’t ask for and didn’t even fully understand, he’d managed to do something for her. To make her feel better and to make her happy.
She flipped over to her back again just as a new thought managed to penetrate the Helena Monroe induced fog that had been clouding her brain for weeks. Jillian slapped the heel of her hand to her forehead and groaned. She was being an ass. Not only was she asking a hell of a lot from Dean, she hadn’t even bothered to talk to him about…him.
Their communication over the past several years had been unsatisfactory at best. She had only been stateside for brief periods of time, and texting and Skype calls didn’t exactly allow for meaningful discussions.
She knew Dean was working with Wyatt, but she had no idea exactly what he did for his brother. All of the Carlisle boys were happy to be outside and Dean embodied this with his love of being dirty, digging for worms, and fishing in the pond. But he wasn’t passionate about horses and rodeos like Wyatt so she couldn’t imagine how he fit in on the ranch.
Especially with a degree in…
She pulled the pillow over her head and growled against the material. Some best friend she was, she couldn’t even remember what his major was. In her defense, he’d changed his mind six times in the course of his studies, extending his college term by a solid two years, and it was hard to keep up.
Tossing the pillow to the ground, she leaned over and grabbed her phone from the charging station and set the alarm. This was completely unacceptable. Dean deserved a much better friend and she was determined to be one. She returned the device to its holder and snuggled down under the covers, pulling them up tight around her neck.
She held the ring-adorned hand close to her heart, where she unrealistically wished she could keep it.
Staying up to stare at pretty, sparkly things was a decision she regretted when the blaring alarm sounded out only a handful of hours later, but she switched it off and spun, planting her feet on the hardwood floor beside the bed. Her eyes barely open, she padded into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and let the hot spray work its magic to revitalize her as much as possible.
She toweled off and dressed, then tip-toed into the kitchen. Dean’s light snores from the couch sent another wave of guilt crashing into her. His feet dangled over the armrest at the end of the sofa while she was completely dwarfed in his bed. Another thing he’d given her without question, his comfort for hers.
As quietly as possible she moved in his small kitchen, pulling together all the ingredients for a spinach and mushroom quiche, mildly impressed at how well Dean’s refrigerator was stocked. But the small boxes of vegetarian sausage and plant-based chicken strips mixed in with Dean’s staples of bacon and beef tugged at her heart.
In that moment she realized just how much she’d missed her best friend. Even though she’d grown incredibly close to Angela, one of the members of her team, over the years they’d traveled from one corner of the globe to the other, their bond wasn’t the same as the one she had with Dean.
Inevitably when she was laying alone beneath the netting that covered her and her bed to keep mosquitos away, she’d have a twinge of homesickness that nearly always centered around the Carlisle family. A group of people she liked to claim as her own, even if there weren’t any blood ties. She’d missed Dean like crazy, but the entire clan held a special place in her heart.
The same heart that shivered in her chest at the jolt of pain that came from the remembrance of her deception to those she loved most in the world.
Something she did for own family, even though Helena had never shown her even a fraction of the warmth Tracy Carlisle did.
Somehow she managed to mix together all the ingredients, fill the pan, and set it in the oven without her brain actually engaging in the task, too preoccupied with its current path of self-damnation. Questions about the decisions she made—and roped Dean into—threatened to drown her under their weight.
She was still distracted when a hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump two feet in the air and spin around, brandishing the spatula she held to serve the quiche like it was a weapon.
