by Julia London
This was where he always faltered. Through those doors, there were people everywhere, moving with purpose. It looked chaotic and disorderly, and as luck would have it, as he and Buster slid out of the door, someone blew a horn.
That damn horn.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. Cop made me circle the block.
Jack swallowed down a lump of apprehension as Buster put his paw down on top of Jack’s boot.
A red car pulled up to the curb. The driver door opened, and Whitney’s head popped up over the hood of the car. She waved. “Come on before the cop comes back!”
Jack’s legs felt like lead, but Buster was ready, and had trotted out to the end of his leash. Jack’s slowness caused Buster to stop in the path of a woman in heels and a pencil skirt and forced her to hop to avoid tripping. She shot Jack a dark look.
“Sorry,” Jack muttered. Before he could take another step, a van pulled up behind Whitney and laid on the horn. A shock of adrenaline ran through him, instantly ramping his heart into painful overdrive.
“You’re in a loading zone!” the driver shouted out the window.
“I’m just picking someone up! Hold your horses!” Whitney shouted back, and darted around the back of the car to Jack. She slipped her arm into his and gave him a tug. With Buster pulling on the other side, Jack was pulled away from the relative safety of the building and marched alongside Whitney to the car.
“I’m not an invalid,” he said brusquely.
“Don’t be grumpy.” She opened the passenger door. Buster hopped into the seat. “Buster! You have to ride in back!” she scolded him, and let go of Jack, took the leash, and pulled the dog down.
The guy in the van laid on his horn again, and Jack’s heart lurched painfully in his chest. The edges of his vision were starting to swim—it seemed as if people and cars were coming out of the woodwork, crawling around him. It took every bit of strength he had to hold on to his wits and put himself in the car.
“I don’t have all day!” the man shouted, gesturing with his hand out his window.
“You think we do?” Whitney shouted back. “People are so rude,” she muttered under her breath before she headed back to the driver’s seat and pulled into traffic with hardly a glance backward.
A new, tingly sensation rode up Jack’s spine. He grabbed the handle above the passenger door window and gripped it as if it were the only thing keeping him from flying right out the roof. “For God’s sake, slow down!” he shouted frantically.
“Don’t yell at me.” She changed lanes. “It makes me nervous.”
“I’m not yelling.”
Whitney shot him a look.
“Okay, maybe I did. But I don’t want to die in a rental.”
Whitney giggled.
Buster startled him by planting his two paws on the console between the car seats and stretching his long body from the back to the front. “You didn’t put Buster in a harness!” he said with alarm.
“A harness?” Whitney looked over her left shoulder, changing lanes.
“You’re supposed to put dogs in a harness. Like a seat belt.”
“You didn’t tell me that. He’ll be fine! Won’t you, Buster-boo?” She took one hand off the wheel to scratch beneath Buster’s neck.
Jack braced his other hand against the dash. Whitney returned her hand to the steering wheel, giggling.
“It’s not funny,” Jack said through gritted teeth. “After two tours in Afghanistan, I’m going to die hurtling through downtown Seattle.”
“It’s sort of funny,” she said. “We’re not hurtling. We’re moving at a speed of twenty-five miles an hour. And besides, I have to laugh, because if I don’t, I’m going to cry that my boyfriend is such a nervous Nellie in the car.”
He ignored that. “You missed the turn.”
“I’m taking Fifth to 90.”
“It’s faster if you—”
She suddenly slapped her hand down onto his knee and squeezed. “I mapped it out. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve only driven it a hundred times,” he muttered.
She suddenly changed lanes again, pulled over to the curb, and stopped. She gripped the wheel and stared at him. “Do you want to go to Christie’s?”
“Yes,” he said, confused by what was happening.
“Then cut it out. I’m not going to kill us.”
She started the car again and pulled into traffic.
“Says you,” he muttered. But he bit his tongue to keep from begging her to take him back.
There were too many lights on Fifth, too many people streaming in front of them. His muscles tensed, his body prepared to flee, or to abandon him altogether in an apoplectic fit. What did Dr. Pratt say? Block by block, has anything happened?
No.
They moved on through a green light, made it two blocks, and came to another red light. A cyclist slipped between cars, startling Jack when he rolled past his door. Jack was forcing himself to breathe when Whitney pushed Buster into the backseat and turned on the radio. Jesus, the radio? There was too much noise—too much, too much.
The light turned green and she shot out as if she were trying to get in front of all the other cars, then merged onto the highway.
He’d made it. Through what, six or seven blocks? And nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. He began to relax. Whitney was driving at a speed that, while not safe, was at least tolerable.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” Whitney asked, as if reading his thoughts.
“No,” he said. “Not fatal, anyway.”
Whitney smiled. “You’re funny, Jack. That’s what I love about you, that you can still make jokes in light of what’s going on in your head.”
That was not a joke, but he thought it best if he kept that to himself.
Christie’s neighborhood was pretty, with tidy houses and lawns and big, towering trees. It was idyllic, the sort of house he used to imagine when he thought of marrying and having a family. That dream had died along with his rational thought a long time ago.
Whitney pulled up in front of a red brick, ranch-style house, with window boxes full of flowers and a freshly trimmed lawn. “This is it!” she said.
Jack gazed at the house. It was very appealing. He was happy for Christie.
“I think Christie has a surprise for you,” Whitney said.
“Wait, what?” Jack jerked his gaze to Whitney.
“You’ll see,” she said cheerily.
“No,” he said, panicking. “No, no, Whitney. I don’t know what you two have been cooking up, but you can’t… This is hard enough—I know it doesn’t make sense to you, it doesn’t make sense to me, but—”
“But you don’t think I see how you struggle?” Whitney interrupted. “We’ve been at this for three weeks now, and I see it, Jack. I get it.” She took his hand in both of hers. “You’re making progress, you’re really getting somewhere, and I won’t let you talk yourself out of it. I won’t let you slide back.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t know. I just do. I care a lot about you.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m a burden, Whitney,” he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “I can’t carry my weight—”
“Don’t say that again, okay?” she said sternly. “I haven’t asked you to do anything but try. I like you, Jack, in case you haven’t figured that out. I more than like you. I have all the feels for you, and I know—I know,” she pressed a hand to her heart, “that you can beat this.”
She looked so earnest, so sure. Jack felt a swell of something so tender in him that it surprised him. This woman had somehow turned him into a big, fat, gooey marshmallow. He touched her face, ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I know.”
He leaned across the console and kissed her softly, with all the reverence he felt for her. The sort of feelings he had for Whitney Baldwin were almost foreign to
him. They felt stiff and unused and too brittle to uncurl properly. But they were slowly and carefully uncurling.
She caught his wrist in her hand, swept her fingers over his ear as she kissed him back. And then she broke the kiss and pressed her forehead to his. “I don’t know what it is about you, Jack Carter,” she whispered. “I swear I don’t. Maybe I’m the nutty one.” She smiled at him and kissed him once more. “Let’s go see your sister.”
* * *
Christie and Chet were waiting for them on the porch with hugs and beers. Christie beamed with happiness. “I thought this would never happen,” she said jubilantly. She delighted in the chocolate cake Whitney had baked that resembled her house—“When I looked it up on Google maps, I got the idea,” Whitney explained. The cake even had a small dog that looked like Buster peering out the window.
After depositing the cake in the kitchen, Christie gave them a tour of her house. She and Whitney migrated to the kitchen to prepare appetizers, and Jack and Buster joined Chet in the backyard at a fire ring.
Jack liked Chet. He regretted that he hadn’t been able to get to know him better because of his affliction. Chet caught Jack up on wedding plans, a new position he’d taken at the engineering firm where he worked, and then they chatted about the chances of the Seahawks making it to the Super Bowl this year.
Jack felt relaxed sitting in that green yard with the blooming honeysuckle and shade of the maple trees. He felt happy. This was the life he’d been missing—time with family, with friends, talking sports. He’d been robbing himself of the moments that meant so much in a man’s life.
He had no idea how much time had passed before Whitney appeared with a bowl of chips and guacamole in one hand, a glass of wine in the other.
“Does Christie need help?” Jack rose to his feet.
“I don’t think so.” Whitney smiled pertly at Chet. Chet smiled back.
“What?” Jack looked at the two of them.
“She’s coming,” Whitney said in a voice that was a little too sing-songy, even for her.
Jack didn’t like it. He turned toward the house just as the slider opened. Christie stepped through, grinning as if she’d just won the lottery. Behind her was a man. Little antennae popped up in Jack’s brain, warning him, but when the man stepped through the door, Jack knew instantly who he was: Zane. Insane Zane Tucker.
A grin spread across his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Zane laughed and walked down the few steps and gave Jack a bro hug.
“What are you doing here?” Jack asked, ridiculously happy to see his old friend. “How are you here?”
Zane smiled and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. That was the first Jack had noticed the pretty, gray-eyed, golden-haired woman on the patio. She smiled shyly as she followed Zane down the steps. Zane put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “This is Harper,” he said proudly, and with good reason. Harper was a doll.
“Hi.” Harper extended her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jack.”
“Only good,” Christie said breezily as she passed them with more appetizers.
“Very nice to meet you, Harper.” Jack shook her hand. He glanced back at his sister. “How did you do this?” In spite of his happiness at seeing his old friend, his antennae were still prickling. The notion that this could be an intervention popped into his head.
“Don’t look so suspicious.” Christie laughed. “Harper is the librarian in Eagle’s Ridge,” she continued as she put down the platters of cheese, crackers, and fruit on a table. “I’ve been taking Mom there every month and met Harper and we became friends. That’s how I found out about Zane. Believe me, I tried to talk Harper out of it, but she seems pretty set on him.”
“Ah, come on, Christie, show a little love for your old crush,” Zane teased her, gesturing for her to come in for a hug.
“Not on your life!” Christie laughed, and perched on the arm of Chet’s chair. “He used to give me noogies,” she explained to Whitney. “This guy,” she pointed at Zane, “once jumped from Eagle’s Nest Rock into the river because they dared him to. He could have broken his neck! That’s one of the many reasons they call him Insane.”
“But I didn’t, which made you crush on me even more.” Zane winked.
Whitney laughed. “What did they call Jack?”
“Romeo.” Zane grinned at Jack. “He was quite the charmer—girls were always googly-eyed around him.”
“Was and were being the operative words,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s sit.”
Zane took a seat and propped his feet on the edge of the fire ring. “So how the hell are you, Jack? You’ve been kind of absent lately.”
“Yeah.” Jack hoped his expression didn’t give him away. “I’ve been crazy busy.”
“Dude, no one is that busy.” Zane laughed.
“Right.” Jack laughed too, aware that it sounded hollow. He had the urge to shove his fists into his pockets, but had to make due by pressing his hands hard into his thighs. “So what’s going on with everyone?” he asked, desperately hoping Zane would take the bait and change the subject.
He did. “Man, where do I start?” Zane said. “You probably don’t know that Ryder and Bailey are headed down the aisle.”
Jack blinked. “Your sister Bailey? Ryder? No way!”
Zane laughed. “Apparently there was a way. Bailey is really happy. You know Adam and I have the watersports business, and that’s going well. He met this woman, Jane, and they’re pretty hot and heavy. Oh, and Wyatt’s a bodyguard now.”
“Wyatt?” Jack asked, imagining the Navy SEAL giving up the adrenaline rush to guard someone. “Doesn’t sound like him.”
“Agreed,” Zane said. “But I think he’s really getting into it. Doesn’t hurt that he started with a celebrity client who’s pretty hot.”
“Zane!” Harper said laughingly.
Zane grabbed Harper’s hand and kissed it. “I have to call it as I see it, baby. Let’s see, who else? Noah’s back in Eagle’s Ridge after, you know…Lainey,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“Yeah.” Jack glanced down.
“I thought for sure we’d see you at her funeral,” Zane said. “You and Noah and Lainey were tight, man.”
“We were,” Jack agreed. His throat began to constrict. “I meant to be there, but something came up. What about Ford?”
“Ford, man…he’s been trying to find himself since he got out of the Navy. I don’t know where he’s going to land, to be honest.”
“I know what that’s like,” Jack muttered.
“You’ve been out what, two years now?” Zane said. “Last I heard you were still writing.”
“Freelancing,” he said. “I’ve had steady work writing for the military blogs and Military Times. Right now, I’m working on a big story about a clinic in Seattle that does contract work for the VA.”
He and Zane chatted about that for a bit, but when the conversation lulled, Whitney asked, “So how long have you guys known each other?”
“We grew up together,” Zane said. “But the seven of us, we really bonded in detention.”
“Jack was a frequent flyer,” Christie said.
“Not as often as Zane,” Jack said.
Zane laughed. “You’d have to know Miss Woody to understand. I saw her recently,” he said to Jack. “She’s more gorgeous than she was, if you can believe it.”
“I can’t believe it,” Jack said, and he and Zane laughed at the shared memory of lusting after the teacher. It felt good to laugh like that. It felt good to go back to a simpler time.
“I hate to be the one to break up this reunion,” Harper touched Zane’s shoulder, “but we really have to go.”
“Go!” Jack exclaimed. “But you just got here! Come on, have another beer.”
“Not this time,” Zane said apologetically. “We have tickets to a concert I’ve been promising to take my girl to.”
“And he’s been promising for a while now.”
Harper smiled adoringly at Zane.
Zane reluctantly stood. So did Jack. “It’s really good to see you, Romeo.” Zane clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Great to meet you, Whitney. Chet and Christie, thanks for the invitation.”
Jack didn’t want his friend to go. He wanted to keep talking about Eagle’s Ridge, about all the things he missed about his life. “Do me a favor and tell the guys I said hello, will you?”
“Better yet, come to Eagle’s Ridge and tell them yourself,” Zane said with a wink. “Hey, we’ve got plans tonight, but if you and Whitney want to meet us for drinks tomorrow, maybe we could work something out.”
“We’d love to!” Whitney said before Jack could form a thought. Such as how he couldn’t possibly meet Zane in a crowded bar in Seattle.
“Tell you what,” Zane said. “I’ll text you tomorrow afternoon and we’ll see what we can figure out.”
Jack smiled thinly, but Whitney said, “Great!”
They all walked out with Zane and Harper and saw them off. As they drove away, Jack lingered on the porch.
“Did you like your surprise?” Christie nudged him.
“I loved it,” he said. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “You know what’s great? Today you’re here and one day soon, you’ll be in Eagle’s Ridge.”
He wished that were true. He wished he could go home tomorrow.
“Dinner’s about ready,” she said, and she and Chet stepped inside.
Whitney touched his hand before following them. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute,” Jack said.
“Don’t take too long. Christie made cheese enchiladas.” She rose up on the tips of her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
Jack waited until he heard Whitney go inside, then swallowed down the cotton in his throat. He wanted to believe her, but his thoughts were suddenly crowded with the idea that after this very pleasant afternoon, after this return to a better time in his life, it would be soured by the fact that he couldn’t meet Zane in a public place and pretend everything was normal. Just thinking about it made his pulse ramp up for full panic mode.
“Jack!” Christie called to him from somewhere in the house. “How long will you make us wait? We’re starving!”