Does Darcy remember to steer into the skid, taking her foot off the brake instead of instinctively slamming it down?
Does she remember what black ice looks like?
What if she takes that curve too fast, the one that’s been responsible for more accidents than I’d like to think about?
I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I don’t even notice the guy walking past us until he bumps into me. I take a quick sidestep and say, “Watch where you’re going.”
But I’m equally annoyed with myself. As a cop, I should be more alert.
The guy grunts, “Youwatch it.” And then he pushes on by, shoving his way out into the rising storm.
My jaw clenches. My hands fist.
“Want to go after him?” Oliver asks. “Make him do a breathalyzer?”
I take a steadying breath. It’s not the rude bar patron I’m angry with. Not really. It’s the emotions I don’t want to be feeling.
“Nah.” As we head through the door and into the cold, I add, “I don’t think he was drunk. Just rude.”
Oliver lifts his chin at me. “Okay.” He wraps his arm around Shea, pulling her to his side. “Our car’s over there. Drive safe. And hopefully the storm doesn’t get so bad that we get called in in the middle of the night.”
I nod at him. “You too.”
As we all split up to find our cars in the rapidly whitening parking lot, my thoughts shift to Darcy again.
Did she make it home safe?
What about her driveway, a long and winding slope that ranges from slick to impossible when the snow is heavy? Did she make it up, or is she stuck somewhere near the bottom?
I shouldn’t worry.
It’s not my place.
But. I’m a cop. Isn’t it my duty to protect?
Would it really be so bad if I just drove by her house to make sure she got home okay?
CHAPTER 2
DARCY
Not for the first time, and definitely not the last, I find myself wishing things were different.
After sixteen years, I should be past it. There’s no reason, at thirty-eight, a ten-year marriage under my belt, to still be pining over my first boyfriend.
I shouldn’t be sitting here, staring out the window at the accumulating snow, running through the same what-ifs and if-onlys I’ve tortured myself with for years.
What if I hadn’t broken up with him?
What if I’d trusted Mike with the truth instead of cutting him off with no explanation?
What if I’d been more mature back then?
What if I hadn’t married asshole Alex on the rebound, allowing him to manipulate me into thinking he was my only option?
If only I’d made different choices, I might have been sitting with Mike and his friends at the Hop-less Horseman instead of with Allison, who I quickly discovered isnotthe kind of person I want to have as a friend.
It’s not that I blame her for flirting with Mike, although her tactics were a bit over the top for my taste. I’ve never been the shove your boobs in a guy’s face and flip your hair kind of woman, preferring the more subtle approach.
