“What happened?”
She finally releases a hand from the steering wheel and shoves it through her hair. I don’t miss that it’s shaking as it disappears into the long brown strands of her ponytail, and I want to snag it, to wrap my fingers around hers and hold it tight.
But I don’t.
“Tire blew,” she says a moment later, dropping it into her lap.
But when I watch it clench into a fist I can’t stop myself, can’t remember why I’m supposed to keep my distance.
So, fuck it, I take her hand, gently lace our fingers together.
“It wasn’t me,” I blurt.
She jerks but doesn’t pull out of my hold.
Nope, her fingers tighten around mine and then she’s holding me right back.
Fuck.
That’s…
Well, it’s almost as good as that stroke of her fingers through my stubble back at the arena.
Almost.
Then she laughs and the mental order I’ve been making of all the good of Kylie Connors is scattered again.
Because that tops everything.
“Who are you?” she teases. “Shaggy?”
I snort, but the slice of dry humor referencing the old two thousands song relaxes me enough that I reach up and brush my thumb beneath her eye. “You’ve been crying.”
Not a question because those beautiful blue eyes are reddened and a little swollen, her lashes clinging together from the tears that left faint tracks on her cheeks.
Her exhale is a little shaky but I don’t pull back.
Or maybe it’s that I can’t.
“Why, baby?”
Half of her mouth quirks up and she exhales again, though this time it’s not shaky. It’s…frustrated. I lurch toward the emotion, hoarding the new piece of her like I’m Gollum and she’s the shining gold ring.
Mine. Mine.
My precious.
“I had a day,” she says ruefully.
“The kids?”
A sigh. “They’re always challenging, but they’re good kids and that challenge is good, is something that makes the days interesting.”
“How?”
“There’s routine and yet, they’re never the same.” She lifts one delicate shoulder in a shrug, lets it fall. “They’re never boring.”
“I know what you mean,” I tell her.
