Page 4 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

“Got it.” She stands taller and crosses her arms the other way, nodding like her head’s attached to a spring.

“You’ve done your due diligence now, thank you.

Thank you so, so much . You’ve offered me the one thing you have to give.

The only thing you’ve ever had to give, turns out.

But, if that’s all you came here for, then you can head back out to your driver .

Poor guy looks like he needs sleep nearly as much as I do. So . . .”

She holds her breath and stares at the wall behind my head. Dismissing me with silence.

I blink, my feet nailed to the floor. I didn’t want to come here, but now I don’t want to leave.

“I’m selling the building, by the way,” she declares suddenly, still avoiding my eyes. “The Smithfield. Unless you want it back. I’ve already decided.”

For the last three years, Grant has been running his nonprofit out of the Smithfield building that I gave him soon after my father died. The Starlight Foundation was in a rough patch at the time, and the building alleviated some of his overhead, allowing him to keep going.

“No, I don’t want it back. Sell it if you want. Keep whatever you can get for it.”

“I don’t need the money.” She glares at me.

“We don’t need to talk business right now, Jules. Just call me in a few days or months, hell, years, if you want to talk about it then.”

“I don’t need a reason to get in touch unless there’s a reason you don’t want it back?” She tilts her head, studying me.

“It was a gift. I’m not taking it back. It’s yours. Do whatever you want with it. I’ll help with the sale though, if you need. Dax can take care of it for you.”

Her breath picks up, the rise and fall of her chest bordering on panic like she wants to say something else, but her eyes find that empty spot on the wall again. She bites her lip to stop tears from forming.

“Jules,” I try again, but she’s quick to stop me.

“It’s been a fucking long day, Si. Surely you, of all people, can understand how burying the dead just doesn’t really put one in the mood to talk finances .

But you know the worst part of this?” She circles the heavy air between us with her hand.

“I thought that maybe you coming here—” Her voice wavers, then her eyes flood.

Fuck .

Just as I’m about to fill the silence — apologize for coming again , apologize for more if she’ll let me — she beats me to it.

“But no.” She throws her hands up. “Here I was, stupid enough to think that my heart couldn’t break any more than it already had. And then here you come offering me some cold hard cash tonight — the day I buried him — you arrogant asshole prick of a man.”

The day we buried him, Jules. I want to correct her, but I don’t.

Her eyes sear mine like she sees straight through me, and I wish she could because then she’d know that none of this was ill-willed between us.

A lone tear slides down her cheek. I pray to God it’s the only one, but another one comes.

And another.

Without thinking, I close the gap between us and grab her arms, pulling her into a hug before tucking her head under my chin.

Completely aware that I shouldn’t be the one hugging her right now, but no one should cry alone.

Especially while someone else just stands there watching.

Even more so when it’s just Jules and me.

For one quick moment, the air dissolves into something more calm and familiar.

Me hugging Jules.

Jules almost hugging me.

Until she starts shoving me.

Hard.

“Silas, I’m fine. Really. I—” She pushes against my chest with fists balled up like battering rams positioned to bring a heavy blow.

I instantly let her go and hold both my palms up in front of me again. We stare at each other, chests heaving from whatever the hell that was.

When did we turn into this? Where I can’t even hug her after losing someone?

She shakes her head and runs the dirt-stained fingernails through her hair.

“You’ve been a real prick, you know? Even before . . .” She pauses, looking startled at the words that should come next. I don’t want her to finish that sentence.

“I know,” I interrupt. “I wish I could take it all back.”

“Plus, just seeing you here reminds me of us . The three of us. It’s too weird to be standing here with you but not him, too.”

“Yeah, I keep wondering when Grant’s going to come walking around that corner.” I point my thumb down the nearest hallway. Her eyes follow my thumb into the dark, as if my saying it might actually bring him back. “I’m sorry, Jules. I shouldn’t have—”

She shrugs, and a shade of anger drains from her face when her shoulders fall.

“I keep feeling the exact same way. Normally, after spending an entire day with a bunch of people, I’d come back to the house and unload the day’s worth of gossip to him.

Who was arguing with who. Who made a questionable comment about Aunt Rory’s dress length.

You know, all that family drama that you just store up in your head to come back home to tell your person about.

But when I got back to the house today—” Her voice cracks and she stops to collect herself.

“When I got back from the funeral, I felt like a dam about to burst because there was no one to talk to. No one to tell how awful it was. This whole stupid house just feels so fucking empty now, you know?”

“Yeah, I do know,” I tell her, quietly. Then add, “You can tell me about Aunt Rory’s dress length and the stupid fights your relatives were getting into if you want.

Patrick is already sleeping out there. I can just stay.

As long as you want. We can order some takeout if you’re hungry, although you’re probably not. God, neither am I but—”

I stop talking when the waterworks start streaming down her face. I take the smallest step toward her, not wanting her to shove me away again.

“Can I—” I start to ask if it would be okay to hug her, but she closes the gap this time. Crumbling into my chest. Big, heavy sobs work their way out while her forehead presses into my shoulder.

I close my eyes, wishing more than anything that I could replace my chest with his right now.

Fucking hell .

I wrap an arm around her, testing it out, then the other, more slowly this time, until I’ve enveloped her frame against me.

She leans in more, like she needs me to hold her up, to stop her knees from buckling beneath her.

Releasing whatever she’s pent up all at once, probably losing sight of the fact that I’m the one holding her up at all.

We stand like that until she’s ready for me to let her go.

Then she slides out of my arms looking bewildered and spent.

Embarrassed.

Unkempt.

“No,” she says, firmly, “I’m going to be fine.”

“I know.” I start to tell her to just forget what I said earlier. “Unless you really do need anything and then I’m—”

“Oh my God, no!” She throws her hands up. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you should be here right now.” Then her face twists, dissolving back into anger. “Just go. If Grant knew you were here, offering me your fucking money right now, he’d die.”

No, he wouldn’t, Jules.

She sniffs, looking painfully aware of the irony tucked inside her words.

But I don’t have it in me to argue. “You’re right,” I say, instead. “Forget it. I’ll go. Call me if you change your mind.”

She moves toward the door, finding that spot on the wall to focus on again without having to look directly at me, then she pulls the door wider not saying a word.

I step outside before turning back. “One more thing.”

Her eyes flick to mine, hope pooling inside them.

I open my mouth, but instead of telling her about everything she has barreling toward her at the end of this year, I don’t. Not yet. And not right now.

“Take care of yourself,” I say, stepping all the way off the porch.

Her chin quivers and she bites her lip to stop it. “I will.”

We both have more to say, clearly, but now is not the time.

The door closes with a soft thud.

Slipping my hands into my pockets, I walk to the car still idling in the dark, back to my life that annoys her to no end, and back to a life without him.

Knowing damn well that the only thing worse than leaving her to crawl back into that empty house and bed all alone tonight is knowing that I have to come back here one year from now to blow her whole world apart.

All over again.