Page 24

Rhys

W e touch down in Sioux Falls late Monday morning.

Thankfully, Eden and I didn’t have seats next to each other.

I can’t imagine what it would have felt like to spend several hours with her arm resting against mine.

Breathing the scent of her shampoo. Trying not to look down the V of the pretty top she’s wearing.

After knowing what it feels like to wake up with my arms wrapped around her and my dick nestled against the lovely soft curve of her ass.

The thought makes me duck my head and silently groan.

I’m pretty sure she wasn’t actually asleep. I felt that moment when she went from tense in my arms to limp, trying to fake it.

How do you make this situation okay, though? Because if I ask, Hey, were you awake when my erection was throbbing against your ass…?

How does that end anywhere good?

I mean, there’s the version where she says, Yes, and I liked it.

I need to not think about that.

Because if she’d liked it, she wouldn’t have pretended to be asleep, right?

Also, by tonight she’s going to be retrieving her quilts from Paul. He could see her, realize his mistake—if he has even an iota of good sense—and try to get her back. There’s no universe in which she would have turned over in bed and pressed her mouth to mine, rolled her hips to meet me.

No universe except the one in my brain.

Two days ago she hated you, and for good reason, I remind myself.

I should be glad that by this time tomorrow we won’t be together anymore. I’ll have flown back to Rush Creek, and she’ll have her quilts in hand and be headed back there herself. Possibly with Paul at her side.

God, I hate that idea so fucking much.

But I can’t discount it completely, despite his terrible behavior, because this morning after her shower (during which I managed, through sheer effort of will, not to think about her naked and gleaming wet), she spent a long time in the bathroom fixing her hair and doing her makeup.

I think she wants to look good for him.

And she’s succeeded. She looks absolutely beautiful. I mean, she always looks beautiful. But right now, she looks well rested and glowing, bright eyed, pink cheeked, berry lipped, and completely…

Kissable.

If I were Paul, I would get down on one knee and beg Eden’s forgiveness. I would grovel for all I was worth. I would claim temporary insanity.

But I’m not Paul. And if he does grovel, I won’t try to talk her out of taking him back. Not only because of Hanna, but also because it wouldn’t be fair to Eden. I’m not what she needs. If I hadn’t known that before, I proved it to myself when I let Fay down.

As I do a quick run-through of the rental car’s mirrors, seat adjustments, and so on, I reach into my pocket and pull out the slip of paper I scribbled on this morning. Hand it to her.

“What’s this?” she asks. She unfolds it.

Grace Vain 143 Beech St, Brandon, SD

“How did you find her address?” The wonder and admiration on her face are all the reward I need.

“I did some sleuthing this morning while you were in the shower.”

“Do you always stalk people like this?”

“I usually pay other people to do my dirty work,” I admit. “But I’ve learned a lot from my private investigator colleagues.”

She clutches it to her chest. “Thank you.”

I get my phone synced up with Car Play, and we drive the twenty minutes or so from Sioux Falls to Brandon, navigating to the address in question.

We’re both quiet on the trip, and she’s pale as a ghost as we approach the turn for Beech. “I’m going to throw up,” she says.

“You’re going to be great. You’ve got this.”

We turn onto Beech.

“Shit,” she whispers. “That’s his car.” She points to where the blue sedan is parked next to the curb. “He must have driven straight through the night. God,” she says. “I was still—” She stops. “I was still hoping it wasn’t true.”

Of course she was. She’d been hoping he just had cold feet, that once he settled down and took a few deep breaths, he’d realize he still wanted to get married.

My chest hurts. Fuck.

I want to jam on the brakes. I want to say, It’s not too late for us to turn around and go back to Rush Creek. I want to say, You don’t need those quilts.

But I know she needs to do this. And what will being selfish buy me? Do I think that if she doesn’t go to him now, she’ll come to me? And what would that mean? At best, one night. Eden on the rebound, trying to prove something to herself.

Right now, it could be enough. Right now, I’d take anything I could get.

And that scares the shit out of me. Because in the end, I’d still be who I am—a guy who doesn’t believe in marriage and failed at the one serious relationship he attempted.

A guy who took advantage of her when she was tired and scared and lost, somewhere unfamiliar and alone, knowing he couldn’t be what she deserved.

I won’t be that guy.

I pull up behind the sedan. “Do you have the keys?”

Eden nods, grabbing her backpack and pulling a key ring out of a small pocket.

We get out of the car together. She unlocks the sedan’s trunk, and we begin swapping the quilts from that car to our rental.

We’ve just transferred the last quilt when the door of Grace’s house opens and a man steps out.

Paul. He takes in the scene, eyes scanning icily over me, then softening on her.

Goddamn it, he has no right to look like he’s glad to see her.

“Eden,” he says. “What are you…?”

“Getting my quilts,” she says. Her voice is hard, and God, I want it to stay that way; I want her to keep her defenses up; I want her to take her quilts and run away from him as fast as she can.

I want her to run away from him, and I want her to run to me.