Page 90 of Middle Ground

She gives me her signature eye roll, and fuck, if that doesn’t ease some of my worries. “I’ve been brushing my own teeth for twenty years, Hotshot. I think I’ve got it covered.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. But I still watch her walk down the hall, just in case. Once the bathroom door shuts behind her, I take my time locking up the cottage. Then I head for Meyer’s bedroom.

Just as I flick on the bedside lamp, my phone vibrates with a text.

Pippa

How’s our girl?

Tired but okay. We’re finally home.

Pippa

Thank you, Jackson.

For what?

Pippa

For being good to her. I had a feeling you would be.

My throat tightens with emotion. I was so scared earlier. When Meyer said she had been in an accident, I got tunnel vision. The only thing I knew was that I had to get to her—to see with my own eyes that she was alive and breathing.

Pippa had been with me in the office. She was off today, but she happened to stop by to drop something off. One look at my face and she had led me to her car, no questions asked. We got to the hospital in record time. She would have come inside if she hadn’t needed to go home to her son.

Thanks for the ride. You’re surprisingly fast. Ever thought about joining F1?

Pippa

Haha. Just because I’m a mom doesn’t mean I drive like a grandma.

Now get some sleep!! Tell Meyer I’ll come see her in the morning.

I set my phone on the dresser and then cross to the bed, pulling back the corner of the comforter on Meyer’s preferred side of the mattress. Just as I finish, I hear soft footsteps pad into the room, and then sheenters.

“Pippa says to expect a visit from her tomorrow,” I say, as I work on unbuttoning the sleeves of my shirt. If she thinks I’m leaving her alone tonight, she’s mistaken.

When Meyer doesn’t respond, I look up. She stands in the centre of the room, arms wrapped around her middle. The stricken expression on her face makes my stomach drop to my feet. She looks seconds away from breaking down.

I carefully approach. “What’s wrong?”

A stupid question after the day she’s had. Whatisn’twrong right now? She’s hurt, and it never should have happened.

“The brakes didn’t work,” she croaks. “Why didn’t they work?”

I’ve been asking myself the same question since she mentioned it at the hospital. I wasn’t sure where my car had been towed at first, but I managed to find out that it was taken to an auto body shop in Calderville. My insurance company—and the police, since Meyer had to give them a statement at the accident site—also wants to know why the brakes failed, so my car will remain at the shop until they can assess all the damage.

I take good care of my car, though. I’m always on time with my oil changes, and I have it inspected regularly. It was last serviced two months ago. The brakes were perfectly fine then.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to scare her when I can tell she’s already spiralling. But I can’t lie either.

“I don’t know, baby.”

I open my arms to her, and she steps into them. All I canoffer right now is to hold her, so that’s what I do. Her body sags against mine, grateful that I’m bearing the weight of the day. I’d take it gladly.

She inhales a shaky breath and then pulls back. “Do you think it’s all connected?”

I know what she’s implying, but I’m wary to voice it. “Is what all connected?”