“What were you expecting?” Lily asked softly.
“That she’d be scared of me,” he admitted with a humorless laugh.
“She’s not,” Lily said. “She remembers you helping.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the drawing. “I didn’t know what to say to her.”
“You said exactly the right thing.”
For a beat, she thought he might say more, but then his gaze caught hers, and the air between them shifted again.
She went to him, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw, right where the muscles still clenched beneath the stubble. He didn’t move, so she tried again, brushing her parted lips along the strong column of his throat.
Gentle. Healing.
He exhaled raggedly. Then his hand came up, sliding to the nape of her neck, tilting her face to his. His thumb swept across her cheek, and only then did she realize there were tears.
“You are so goddamngood, Lily,” he said roughly.
She curled her fingers around his wrists, holding on. “So are you,” she whispered, wishing he believed it.
But instead of kissing her, he let her go and stepped back, breaking their connection. “I should go. Rachel and Sarah are meeting me at the nursing home to see Pop.”
She nodded, forcing a smile as he tugged up the collar of his coat and left, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.
When are you going to stop running, Rush?
Chapter Thirty-Two
The cell phonebuzzed against the hood of the Chevy, but Rush ignored it. One glance at the screen told him enough.
Grant. Again.
Shit. He wiped his hands on a rag and fitted the oil cap back into place with more care than necessary. He didn’t know how many years this truck had in it, but he wasn’t about to rush the end. The old Chevy had history—she’d chauffeured his mom when she was a teenager, taught him how to drive, carried him around in between deployments when the world still felt sharp around the edges. Pop had handed him the keys when he came home from overseas, gruff as usual but with pride shining in his eyes, and Rush had promised he’d take care of her.
It wasn’t a hard promise to keep. The truck was the one thing that didn’t ask more from him than he could give. He loved the routine—changing her oil in the garage, washing her down in the summer heat, listening to the low, steady rumble that said she wasn’t done yet. The green-and-white paint had faded to an ancient patina, but she still purred to life better than any other truck he’d driven.
Boston didn’t have anything like this. Boston was anonymity, another body in a suit collecting a paycheck. Here he was somebody’s grandson, a brother, a sheriff, a lover.
His phone buzzed again, and this time he picked it up. He had to. Whenever he didn’t, his sisters showed up on his doorstep.
With a resigned sigh, he answered.
Two grainy faces filled the screen.
“There he is!” Sarah sang, jabbing a finger at the camera. “I bet five bucks you’d hit the asshole button.”
“You look tired,” Rachel said, frowning. “Are you still not sleeping?”
“I bet I know why you’re tired,” Sarah said, a smirk in her voice. “A certain jilted hostess at Maple and Main told me you’ve got a new lady.”
“Did you get that paper written yet?” Rush asked pointedly. The last time they’d talked, he’d driven out to Buffalo to bring her groceries because she’d claimed she was too busy studying for finals to eat. He hadn’t bought it then, but he hadn’t minded either. He missed the girls.
“Yep,” she said breezily. “Now quit dodging. Who’s Lily, and when do we get to meet her?”
She was relentless.
“Nobody,” he said, guilt pricking him as soon as the words left his mouth.
