Because I couldn’t remember where I’d left his card. “Text it to me?”
She frowned. “Sure. Why?”
“I think he took the silver boxes out of Dad’s trunk.”
Donna stared. “You’re joking.”
“I wish,” I said. “I’ll call the sheriff, but I want to talk to Cormac first. He didn’t seem like a thief.”
Something about the memory of his steady gaze and calm voice in the rain tugged at me. He hadn’t looked guilty. Just… tired.
Donna crossed her arms. “Call the sheriff.”
“I will. I promise.”
She hugged me, holding on a beat longer than usual. “Call me if there’s any change with Aiden. Doc said he’s going to be fine.”
“He’s already fine,” I quipped.
Tessa snorted, looping an arm through mine and steering me toward her Honda Rogue. “Let’s get you home, comedian.”
We drove in silence most of the way. Morning sunlight began breaking through the thinning clouds, streaking across the wet asphalt. My eyelids grew heavy. For the first time since the explosion, the knot in my chest began to loosen. Just a little.
When Tessa parked in front of Aiden’s cabin, she turned to me. “You want me to stay?”
Thank goodness Knox had picked up Brickhouse the night before and taken him across the pass. The poor guy would be lonely. “No. I’m good. Go get some sleep, Tess. You guys didn’t have to stay all night.”
“Of course we did.” She smiled, soft and tired. “You’d have done the same.” She winked, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I climbed out, the cool air hitting my face.
The house was dark, quiet, safe, and for the first time in what felt like days, I let myself breathe. But the place felt wrong without him. Too still. The scent of him, coffee, pine soap, something warm and masculine, lingered faintly in the air, and it hit me harder than I expected.
The jacket he’d worn the other night was still tossed across the back of the couch. His boots sat by the door, caked in dried mud. Every detail reminded me of him, and that weight in my chest pressed tighter until I thought I might actually cry again.
I made it to the bathroom before I did and twisted the shower on, ditching my clothes.
The shower’s steam fogged the mirror as I stepped beneath the hot water. Heat soaked into my shoulders, loosening the ache there, but it couldn’t wash away the fear that had lived in me since the explosion. I leaned a hand against the tile and let the tears fall, silent and steady.
I’d been terrified. Truly terrified. I couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.
And in that clarity that only comes when the tears finally run out, I knew the truth. If Aiden asked me to move to Los Angeles, if it became necessary for his work or his safety, I would go. It would break my heart to leave my family and everything I’d ever known, but I would still go.
When the water began to cool, I shut it off and wrapped myself in one of his oversized towels. The scent of detergent and Aiden clung to the fabric. I stood there for a long minute before forcing myself into motion.
I dressed in jeans and a light green sweater, the color giving me a hint of life I didn’t feel. Drying my hair, I then twisted it into a ponytail, swiped on a touch of eyeshadow and gloss, and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked human again. Barely.
Outside, the morning had fully arrived. Mist hovered over the trees, and the sunlight fought to break through the clouds. I grabbed my jacket and stepped into the cool air, locking the door behind me.
Driving over the pass, the world looked washed clean from the storm. Pines glistened with drops of water, and the river below rushed high and loud from the rainfall. My mind wouldn’t stop circling back to Aiden—his voice, the way his hand had felt in mine, how his eyes had opened and found me first.
By the time I reached the town with its overabundance of green and gold decorations, the streets were quiet, with only a few early risers out sweeping porches or fetching coffee.
I drove along the river for a while, trying to calm the restless energy pushing through me. Finally, I pulled into the gravel drive of Brannigan’s Bed and Breakfast.
The place sat nestled beside the water, a white clapboard house framed by trees and wild rosebushes. The rocks behind it were pale and glittering, like quartz or marble, catching the morning light. The river rushed past them in a steady roar. Somehow, the house didn’t look out of place here. It looked like it belonged, fading naturally into the light rocks. What mineral kept the stones white?
I killed the engine, my pulse steadying.
It was time for Cormac Coretti to tell me everything.
