“Good, because I have a wish list for that old man. I plan on taking his knee.”
I wink at Dustin and move toward the door. He chuckles behind me.
“I’m pretty sure Earl’s friend Gary plays Santa, and if you sit on his lap in those jeans, dude’s going to have a heart attack.”
Dustin is flirting back, and it feels . . . nice. It still isn’t quite that full-on electricity that I used to find so damn irresistible between us. I chased that feeling, orchestrated moments to watch it flourish. I bet on it—on where it would take us. And for the first time in a long time, I crave it.
“We should go,” I say, turning to face the doors and work open the locks. Dustin’s hand covers mine when I reach for the bolt, and I slip my hand away nervously.
“Sorry,” I utter at the same time he does. His breath tickles the side of my cheek and I will myself not to turn to test how close he truly is. It’s too early yet. I’ll know when it’s right. He’ll let me know.
“Here,” he says, flicking the lock and reaching in front of me to turn the handle. I step back as he swings the door open, and he makes sure to lock the house as soon as we step outside. He’s being cautious, which is an odd suit for him to wear.
He rushes around to the passenger side of the Supra, opening the door wide for me and holding out his hand to help me in. I twist my lips up, mocking his offer, but he lets his head fall sweetly to the side and shakes his palm gently in the air between us.
“For just this once, Banana. Let me be a gentleman.”
And there it is.
I slide my palm across his, heat burning through my skin when we touch, and his fingers close around my hand as I lower myself into the car. His eyes linger on me for a beat and he ticks out a short laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head before shutting the door.
“What was that look for?” I ask the second he climbs into the driver’s side.
He chuckles as he buckles up and fires up the car, straightening his arms as his hands flex comfortably round the wheel. His gaze pops over to me, starting at my thighs and climbing up to my eyes in one fluid stroke.
“Restraint, Hannah. That look was for restraint.” He gives me a tight-lipped grin and returns his focus to the rearview mirror and soon the road.
It’s a twenty-minute drive to the trailhead, and Dustin has music playing in the background. I recognize the playlist from the one he drove to before his first circuit race. By the time he hit the track for real, I had every lyric memorized. Before I left Arizona, I downloaded a copy of it and listened to it almost every day during my walks.
“Why the sly grin, Banana?”
I didn’t realize I was smiling until he pointed it out. I look to my side and catch his glance. I also note the roll of his hands around the steering wheel. He’s nervous. He’s called me Banana twice now. Twice.
“I like this song is all.”
He looks at me again and our eyes hold for a full second, his mouth smiling on the side closest to me.
“This was my first big race. I think of this playlist as my power jam. Stupid, right?”
I shake my head.
“Not stupid at all.”
It was mine, too.
The highway is empty thanks to the holiday, so for the few miles we have to travel on it, Dustin does Dustin, showing off. I imagine this is what animals do in the wild when they want to mate; they spread feathers and pheromones to lure unsuspecting females into their web. Dustin? He drives fast.
It’s sexy as hell.
He races around the curve of the off-ramp and I don’t even bother to hold on to the side of the door, letting the force pull my body toward him. I give in to the laughter as our youth overlaps our now and my chest bubbles with actual glee.
“You should feel it on the track,” Dustin says, his mouth stretched into the most magnificent smile I’ve ever seen. He sinks the gas pedal to the floor, finishing the loop while the tires grip desperately to the road to hold on, skidding us to a stop that lights the air on fire with the scent of rubber. I fall back into my seat and laugh, feeling free for the first time in three years.
“I can’t imagine doing that at two hundred plus,” I say, excitedly slapping my hands on my thighs. Dustin’s smile pushes higher into his cheeks with pride.
“It’s pretty great,” he says, his teeth gripping his bottom lip like a little boy embarrassed about showing off.
The engine quiets and the next song slips in, a slower one—one we’ve kissed to so many times. In this sudden quiet, it’s impossible not to feel the pull of our history. My eyes dart to his lips and his tongue slips between his front teeth just before he breathes out a light laugh.
“You need to win, Dustin.”
My stomach twists. I don’t know why I said that, and why it was out loud. But it had to be said and I had to say it. Dustin’s eyes shift to me, and the carefree grin falls.
“I can’t,” he responds, turning his focus back to the road as the signal changes and lets him pull forward.
“You must,” I press on.
Denying himself is denying the world. It’s holding back greatness from this sport he loves. The racing community needs him. His daughter needs to see him. There has to be a way to remove the chains from around his neck. I won’t let anything hurt Bristol, but of all the truths there are in this world, the biggest is that Dustin Bridges was born to race, and he’s destined to be the best that ever was.
“I saw your art,” he utters, an attempt to change the subject that works.
My mouth opens and I mentally run through the hows and whats of his confession. My portfolio—online.
“What did you think?” I tuck my hands under my thighs, suddenly self-conscious.
He sucks in his lips, and for a moment I brace myself for a hard truth—the kind I have yet to hear but still expect to from my parents. It’s a nice hobby. What’s the point? How can I make money off any of that?
“I think you’re fucking incredible.” He swivels his head and his gaze grabs hold of me, knocking me speechless. Now it’s my turn to suck in a modest smile.
“Thank you,” I utter after he looks away.
He nods.
We pull into the crowded dirt lot, lights strung around picnic tables and food vendors, the happy music of Christmas coloring the air with reds and greens. Dustin lowers the windows and I breathe in. Somehow, it smells like pine outside, despite the fact that most of the green around us comes in the form of desert brush and cacti.
I wait in my seat for Dustin to round the car after he parks, and when he offers his hand, I take it. I take it and I don’t let go because he doesn’t seem to want me to.
We maintain this delicate hold on each other along the circular trail, and while there’s a guarded nature about the way Dustin and I both scan the crowd, there’s also a sweetness to this moment.
“Kettle corn?” He leans his head toward my favorite booth.
I nod, and let go of his hand long enough for him to fish cash from his wallet. He purchases a medium bag and hands it to me to hug close to my chest. When he offers his arm for me to loop mine through, I take it without hesitating, and when I pick out a kernel to feed to him, he bends forward and lets me place it between his lips.
“It’s sweet,” I warn.
He chews slowly, eyes scanning the contours of my face.
“Yes, it is.”
My moment to swoon is cut short by the shrill voice of one Amanda Judge. My mom is waving her hand over her head when Dustin and I turn to face her. She’s manning the ticket booth, and a very anxious little girl stands on the chair beside her.
“I think someone wants to see Santa,” I say.
“Don’t we all.” Dustin chuckles.
We head to my mom and surprisingly, rather than rushing to me, Bristol climbs from her chair and clings to Dustin’s side, her arms stretched up in request. The love that colors his eyes and pulls at his smile warms my body, and the ease with which he bends and sweeps our gi
rl into his arms, bracing her to his side, is both natural and new all at once.
“Santa,” Bristol announces.
“Right. Santa it is,” Dustin says, pointing toward the trail ahead.
I exchange a quick glance with my mom, one that lets each of us know it’s all right to enjoy this night. Our worries will be there when it’s over.
I walk close to Dustin’s side, a little afraid to take his arm again now that he’s holding Bristol, but about a hundred feet into our small climb, he stretches his fingers wide in the space between us, his knuckles brushing mine until I slip my fingers between his and hold on tight. He doesn’t look at me when our hands meet, but he smiles at what’s ahead. He smiles because this is the dream—our shared dream—and for this little slice of time, we are actually living it.
The line to see the big man in red—aka Gary—isn’t very long. Most of the people out this late are older, teenagers and older couples out for the night air and food. Within minutes, Dustin is helping Bristol up on Gary’s knee. She grimaces at first, and I hold out my phone, ready to snap a quick picture before a total meltdown. Dustin kneels in front of her, though, and cups her ear, whispering something. She turns to face him and scrunches her face. He whispers in her ear again and when she looks at him, he nods.
“You can do it,” he says, slowly letting go and letting Gary hold her up.
“She hates this,” I mutter at his side when he reaches me.
“Nah, she’s tough. She’s got this.” He sinks his hands in his pockets and lifts his chin, brandishing his signature arrogant smile. I give him a sideways glance before readying myself to take a picture.
The elves—aka members of my mom’s staff—jingle bells in the air, coaxing Bristol, and maybe Gary too, to look in the right direction. I snap a few photos of my own, but decide to meander toward the monitor to see what kind of shot the professional got.
“So tell me, Bristol. What do you want for Christmas?” Gary has the Santa voice down, and I smile to myself while I compare the two shots showing on the photographer’s screen. I glance to Dustin, about to ask him for his opinion, but he’s busy coaching Bristol.
“You can do it,” he nods.
I laugh quietly, pretty sure she’s going to ask for pancakes and then ask if she can go home and watch cartoons now. My hand is in my pocket, reaching for my credit card, when my daughter—with some sneaky help from her father, no doubt—changes the moment entirely.
“Mommy kiss Dustin.”
The elves nearby giggle, as does the older couple waiting in line behind us. All I can seem to do is stare with wide eyes and an open mouth at the photos I want to buy.
“I’m sorry?” I shift my gaze to Dustin.
Hands still in his pockets, he shrugs his shoulders and pouts his lips as if he is innocent.
“Kiss him! Kiss him!” Bristol has started to kick her legs and giggle.
“Oh, my God,” I utter, returning my focus to Dustin. He looks up with guilty eyes, but eventually gives in and stares into mine, the nerves of the moment finally catching up to him.
“Kiss him!” Bristol continues.
“Someone give her a candy cane!” I shout back, which gets a good laugh from the small crowd.
I cover my face with my hands but step closer to Dustin, parting my fingers to peek through then cupping my face to shield my eyes from the onlookers.
“Did you do this?” I know he did.
“I mean, did I sit on Santa’s lap? No.” He bites his lip, but it slips free as he takes a single step forward.
My heart picks up to a manic pace, and I’m sure everyone can see my entire body quiver. My lips feel numb.
Dustin pulls his hands from his pockets, reaching to my face with his right palm and brushing back a few strands of hair before resting his hand softly against my cheek as his gaze freezes time. I reach forward and clutch the center of his long-sleeved shirt look up into his magical hazel eyes. My home. My everything.
“You heard the girl.”
While the people around us are amused by his banter, an intimacy slips in that draws us closer and somehow blocks everything else in the entire world out. No Alex. No judgements or fears. No past or future. Only a right now. A very electric yet tender right now.
Dustin’s thumb passes along my cheek, coaxing my lips to part and my eyes to close as his other hand moves up my neck to cup the opposite side of my face. His nose brushes against mine and a sharp breath leaves my lips.
“Hannah Banana,” he whispers against me, my lips buzzing from the faint touch.
“Eat my dust,” I whisper through a bashful smile.
He captures my top lip between his, a gentle suckle that tugs on my lips and fills me with a rush of warmth to fight the winter breeze whirling between the mountains. Someone whistles in the background, the only noise to break my cocoon, and we laugh quietly against each other, the break a fraction of a second before his lips glide over mine, his tongue taking its time as it glides along the sharp edges of my teeth before probing deeper. His hands tilt my head to the side to deepen our kiss, and his hand slides down my back, bracing me as he leans me back and kisses me the way a champion does.
Our kiss lasts seconds, not even the full minute, and it does not erase months of pain. But as Dustin tilts me back up and our lips slip apart, faint smiles left in their wake, I know this kiss is only the beginning. I feel it. I knew I would.
16
There is still so much we need to overcome. I won’t rush us. But at the same time, Hannah and I have waited years for our time. All I know is that tonight, I don’t want either of us to be alone. I don’t want to let her go.
The itch to keep her close gets stronger the second I pull into her family’s driveway, her dad just ahead of us with our sleeping daughter nestled in her booster seat and out like a light. I rush out of the car to open the door for Hannah while she still lets me do those things, then make it to Tom’s truck before he crawls into the back seat to lift out Bristol.
“Mind if I—?” I motion into the truck cab, and he smiles with a soft nod.
“Your back’s younger than mine,” he jokes.
I reach in and carefully unbuckle my daughter, doing my best not to wake her. She stirs briefly and her eyes open, hazel orbs staring right through me in the middle of her dreams. She blows out and stretches her arms over her head and a second later, her lids are shut again. She’s amazing. I could lose hours of my life simply watching her be alive. Every small thing, her hiccups and her yawns, her mispronounced words and her verve for sugar—I want to study it all.
I slip my hands around her body and scoop her into my arms, holding her close to my chest as Hannah shuts the truck door behind me. Tom has the front door open and ready, holding a finger to his lips, not to warn us to be quiet for Bristol’s sake but because Tommy and Bailey left the hike early and are sleeping on the couch. It’s A Wonderful Life plays on the TV on low.
We sneak inside and Tom locks up while Hannah and I tiptoe up the stairs to Bristol’s temporary room. I’m gentle when I kneel on the bed and set her in the pile of blankets, pulling the soft pink one I remember from Hannah’s room up to her chin. Like the last time I watched her sleep, I’m struck by the miracle she is, and I’m unable to leave. This time, Hannah sits with me. She never speaks; she knows I want to soak in our daughter’s dreams. I also can’t stop thinking about the risk of my connection to her.
Between us, we collectively put a dozen Hail Mary plans into motion today. The ones conjured by Tom and Bailey’s father hold the most promise. Their legal connections run deep, and Bailey’s dad knows his way around the tax code. A few phone calls revealed there are plenty of federal investigations underway into Alex Offerman’s businesses. He’s been the subject of scrutiny for years. I figured so. But years of detective work only seems pointing toward more years of detective work, and without offering myself up as a plant or a spy, I’m not sure the tax crimes are going to come to a head before my daughter starts ju
nior high.
I’m tired of waiting for my life to begin. There’s always something—Colt, Alex, Hannah, my terrible decision-making skills. The one thing that has been true through it all is that Hannah is still my heart. She’s no longer the entire thing, she shares room with Bristol now, but I’m nothing without either of them.
I’m done being a prisoner.
“Stay with me. Tonight.”
I don’t look at Hannah when I ask, partly because I’m afraid her hesitant expression will talk me out of this. I also don’t want to intimidate her. The hard work is still very much ahead of us. If she doesn’t feel ready for this, I don’t want to push her.
“Where would we stay?”
I suck in my smile.
“I want to show you my place. We can ask Tom to watch her. Your mom will be home soon too. And I’m not saying we have to . . .” I breathe out, listening to my head over the urges tempting my body. Kissing her was everything. I won’t rush us. “We can just talk. I miss you.”
My chest squeezes at my own admission. Those words were somehow so easy to say, and here I thought it would always be impossible. I’m not stubborn with Hannah. I’m open, torn wide and laid bare.
“Let me talk to my dad.”
She places her hand on my shoulder as she stands and I reach up to cover it with my palm. I turn my head enough that I can brush a kiss against her knuckles if I want to. I resist, but only because I don’t want her to think I want any more than this right here.
While Hannah talks with her father downstairs, I finish tucking Bristol in, turning on the pirate ship night light and building a small wall of pillows along the edge of the bed. I don’t know how she sleeps. I don’t know much about her at all. But I don’t want her falling. I don’t want her ever getting hurt, not if I can help it. I kiss her head and relish the sweet way her upper lip curls up while she sleeps before tiptoeing my way out her door and closing it nearly all the way.
Hannah is still wearing her sweater when I spot her waiting at the bottom of the stairs, which I take as a promising sign. The hard glare I get from her dad as he spreads butter on an English Muffin and sits back in the kitchen chair that faces our exit is also somehow a good sign, albeit a slightly threatening one.
Burn: The Fuel Series Book 3 Page 13