“My lucky number.” He didn’t release her hand as he made his confession. “That’s how old I was when I had my daughter. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“What a... lovely thing to say.” She blinked in surprise, as if seeing him for the first time. “All right, then. To a truce.” Neve glanced to their interlocking fingers and then back up. “At least for the next two days. Telluride or bust.”
“Thank you for coming with me,” he said quietly. “I... didn’t want to go alone.”
Silence fell. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said at last, slowly withdrawing her hand. “Or the fact that unlike your alter ego suggests, you aren’t a totally awful person. Who knows, I might have just made the discovery of the century. Tor Gunnar might be a good guy.”
“I like that level of optimism, Angel.”
“Thanks, Coach.” But her snort didn’t appear unkind. Her gaze was cautious, but also curious.
As if she wondered about him, as much as he wondered about her.
He made good time getting out of the city despite the morning traffic. It didn’t take long until he had them cruising southwest on US 285. But it soon became obvious that despite their agreement to a cessation in hostilities, the drive wasn’t going to be full of warm fuzzies. Any of his initial strained questions were met with monosyllabic answers.
Time for plan B. Operation Saved by Springsteen. He cranked up the stereo and focused on “Born to Run.” But despite the music, an unsettled quiet took root and spread. His heart beat in time to the melody. His shoulders tensed.
He was trying his best and didn’t know how to steer them back on track. Neve had hunched in on herself, shoulders stooped. Didn’t so much as glance his direction, or even straight ahead. Her hand splayed on the passenger-side window as if she wished she was anywhere else. This was it. His worst nightmare. They drove past deep, dramatic canyons and up along the winding road lined with ghostly aspen. He could barely register the scenery. Hard to focus on anything when his heart was going as cold as the surrounding alpine tundra.
Time to reconcile the truth. Wanting something didn’t make it happen. This was a terrible idea, the trip a bust before it even began. As much as it would have sucked to attend Maddy’s wedding solo, it was going to suck a magnitude of an order worse to bring along an unwilling guest.
“My ears popped.” Neve spoke for the first time in an hour as they crested Monarch Pass. The highest point of the drive.
“Not surprised.” He cleared his throat, his voice rough with pent-up tension. “We’re at 11,312 feet.”
His sharp answer got her attention. She turned to face him dead on. “How do you know that so precisely?”
He forced a tight smile and pointed at the road sign. “I can read.”
Monarch Pass: 11,312 feet. Continental divide.
“Oh.” She put her hands on her cheeks and rubbed slow circles under both eyes. “Sorry. I’m a little out of it.”
“Is the altitude bothering you? We’ll start dropping now all the way into Gunnison, but Telluride still sits at close to nine thousand.” He slowed, dropping into Third with a slight frown. He’d been so in his head that he hadn’t stopped to study her. Now that he did, she didn’t look all that good. She was always pale, but her coloring seemed off, almost grey.
She made a sound that might be a grunt of “Don’t worry about it” but could also be a soft moan.
Shit. Somethingwaswrong.
He pulled into the empty parking lot for a scenic mountain tram—closed for the winter—and yanked the hand brake. “What’s up? You’re not feeling okay, are you?” Once they got to Telluride, he could take her to the clinic and get her a prescription written for an oxygen concentrator. Most Colorado ski towns had rental companies as altitude sickness was so common for visitors.
“I’m not too hot.” She mashed her lips. “It’s cold out but mind if I open the window? At least for a moment. See if that helps settle my stomach?”
“You’re carsick?” Everything fell into place. The strained silence. Her rigid posture. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have pulled over.” He’d been torturing her for hours without the first clue what was wrong. He’d been so fixated by his worst fears that he hadn’t considered the most reasonable solution. Relief and frustration hit him in equal measure.
“It always happens. Since I was a kid. Breezy used to call me Nauseous Neve whenever we had to drive more than a half hour. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it to you. I dosed with some motion sickness meds before leaving. They are making me woozy but otherwise that’s about it.”
His chest thawed. “Is that why you haven’t been talking.”
“Yup.” Her laugh was queasy. “What’s your excuse?”
He thought it over and decided to go with honesty. “Social awkwardness.”
She grimaced or smiled. Hard to tell under the conditions.
He felt like the biggest dumbshit. She had been sick on his watch and he’d had his head implanted straight up his ass. The urge to fix the situation took over. He’d do better, starting now. “I’ve got more water in the back.”
He went to the trunk, opened a small cooler and grabbed her a bottle, plus the sandwiches that he’d made last night when insomnia made sleep impossible. He grabbed an armload of supplies and got back inside the Porsche.
