I clear my throat and force a nod. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Lawson studies me, like he always does. “Are you pissed I offered her the car?”
“No,” I answer too fast, so I try again, slower this time. “No. Honestly? I’d rather it get used more. I paid for it, and it’s just been sitting there since—”
Since Melissa.
I don’t say her name often anymore if I can help it.
Lawson’s expression softens, the way it always does when Melissa accidentally comes up. He never says it out loud, but I know he’s still furious on my behalf. Furious about Billings, about the lies, about Jasper having to be the one to tell me. Two and a half years later, and the damn ache still flares in my chest. Only now it’s not all-consuming, it’s just sharp and cold.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, “It’s fine. She needs wheels. She can have them.”
Lawson watches me a second longer, like he’s trying to see beneath my skin. He’s done it since we were kids, and I hate it now as much as I hated it then. Although… sometimes I’m grateful he knows what I’m feeling without me actually having to say it.
“You sure you’re okay?” he presses.
I meet his eyes. “I’m good.”
It’s not a lie. Not the whole truth either.
Footsteps thud down the hallway—Beau hollering something about dinner being ready in fifteen, but neither of us moves.
“Linc,” Lawson says. “She’s not Melissa.”
A huff of air leaves my chest. “I know that, Lawson.”
God, do I know that.
“She’s just a girl who needs a fresh start.”
“Just a girl?” I lift a brow. “That’s why your grumpy face lit up like a Christmas tree when I asked you how today went? That’s why Jasper’s face looked like he got caught with his hand inMama’s cookie jar when he came back from the guesthouse last night? That’s why Beau won’t stop smiling like a fucking buffoon ever since she got here? Just a girl, my ass.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Okay. Well played. But you—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. Because I’m not ready for whatever brother bullshit he thinks he’s about to dump on me.
He downs his glass and sets it on the desk before raising his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’m just saying… We’ll figure it out.”
We. Like this whole mess—whatever this stir is inside of me, inside all ofus—is a collective problem.
Is it?
But Law stands, reaching across the desk and giving my shoulder a quick pat on his way out. “Come eat. You’re growly when you’re hangry, and that says a lot coming from me.”
When he’s gone, the office goes quiet again. My gaze drifts to the window, out toward the guesthouse where I can see the warm yellow glow of her lights against the deep blue of the evening.
She’s close.
So damn close.
And for the first time in two and a half years, something in me moves.
Not pain.
Not an ache I thought I’d never heal from.
Something else entirely.
