The Final Goodbye

by Brittney Sahin

  “Then look at me when you say that.” She grabbed hold of his bicep, her fingers tightening around the muscle.

  He didn’t move. He couldn’t face her and lie. She deserved more from him.

  “I should take you home,” he said, his voice low. “What kind of security do you have?”

  “Look at me.” Her plea was softer this time. “Why do I need security? Why would I be in danger if the police think it was a targeted kill?”

  “Because nothing is for certain.” He glanced back at her. “And I’ll be staying until the killer is caught.”

  “And how can I trust that you won’t leave?”

  He released his grip on the chair to confront her. “First, we can’t speculate, so we need to assume everyone is a suspect.” He edged closer. “And second, I’m not eighteen anymore. I won’t take off.”

  “And what was your excuse at twenty-five? Or thirty?”

  The truth was uncomfortable, like hot wax on his skin. It burned.

  He sidestepped her and grabbed his hotel keycard then phone. “Come on. I’m walking you home.”

  “I can manage on my own.”

  “Not on my life are you walking out there by yourself.” He heaved out a heavy sigh. “Until the killer is caught, I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight. Hate me all you want, but that’s the way it’ll be.”

  “Didn’t you just promise me the other day I’d never have to see you again?” She screwed her eyes tight for only a brief moment. “But you don’t exactly keep your promises, do you?” She captured a deep breath and allowed it to slowly roll out.

  Her expression hardened. “You promised me we’d always be together. Remember?” Her words sounded like glass that had been run over—broken and sharp. They cut into every crevice of his body that had already been damaged from the time he’d spent away from her.

  “Listen, Ri.”

  She held her hand up. “You have to stop doing that. You can’t come here and pretend we’re the same people.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.” He looked up at the ceiling and pinched the skin at his throat, searching for clarity.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I don’t goddamn know,” he snapped and faced her again, his stomach muscles tightening.

  Ralph was dead, and he couldn’t fix it. He always fixed things, but he sure as hell didn’t know if he could fix what was broken between him and Riley.

  She wet her lips and cocked her head. He was pretty sure this was her third attempt to get a read on him tonight. He knew she’d only hit a dead end. No one got into his head unless he wanted them to—his training in the Marines had seen to that.

  “Being around you is confusing.” Her candor almost had him falter a step, but then she delivered a jumbled string of curses and spun around, pressing her palms to the wall by the door. “You see what you’re doing to me. You’re making me swear.”

  “Well, shit, we wouldn’t want that.”

  “Blow me,” she said over her shoulder, glaring at him. Her sudden potty mouth had him biting back a quip, knowing it’d only add fuel to the fire.

  “You make me feel like a kid again.” Her shoulders relaxed as she looked back at the wall.

  His gaze dipped down her back to her hard ass. “Is that such a bad thing? Feeling young again?”

  “There’s a difference between immature and young.”

  “Why is being around me confusing?”

  “Because I don’t want to hate you. But I also want to punch you in the face.”

  A low hiss whistled between his parted lips. “You should hate me, and I don’t mind if you need to punch me again.”

  She faced him, pushing her sleeves to the elbows as she closed the distance between them. Her height of five-five made it harder for her to look him square in the eyes, but that didn’t deter her from trying.

  He wondered if she really was going to slug him clean across the jaw. Hell, he wouldn’t even turn his chin if she really wanted to go for it.

  Her darkened eyes pulled him in, and he almost forgot where he was—even who the hell he was. With parted lips, a light pink crawled up her throat and took over her cheeks.

  They were in some sort of staring match now like they were waiting for the other to blink.

  “Honey, I can do this all day,” he said after two minutes, diffusing the tense silence. “And before you say don’t call me honey, I’ve already taken a mental note to skip it the next time.”

  She was fighting a smile, and damn hard. “I know what you’re doing.”

  He raised a brow. “What?”

  “Distracting me.” She shook her head. “You’re not protecting me, though. You can walk me home tonight, but when we get back from the mountains, there’s no way in hell I’ll let you become my bodyguard.”

  He was breaking through her stubborn walls, she just didn’t know it, yet.

  But what if she knocked his down, too?

  He couldn’t let that happen, though.

  “We’ll agree to disagree. Now, come on.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Unless you want to stay here tonight.”

  She gasped. “Ben . . .”

  His tongue swept over his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to have sex. Jesus, Ri.”

  Her well-timed eye roll, and the way her pouty lips pressed together, was too damn hot. A sarcastic and annoyed look shouldn’t turn him on. “Let’s go.”

  The walk to her apartment would take five minutes. He’d timed it when choosing his hotel. But five minutes was still too long in his mind to get to her if she were in danger. Of course, there was no indication in the police report that there’d be another murder, but the sheriff didn’t have a Magic 8 Ball, so how the hell did he know whether or not it was a one-time kill?

  “You never answered my question, by the way.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked down the cracked sidewalk. “What kind of security do you have?”

  “A lock.”

  He stopped and faced her. “No alarm? No camera?”

  “It’s an apartment. And nothing ever happens here.” Her eyes closed for half a second. “Well, nothing ever did.”

  He blew out a breath. “The prison is two miles from here. What if a convict escaped and decided to take up residence at your place?”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She started walking again.

  “You’re not being smart.”

  “I’ll get an extra lock,” she said once he was at her side. “Satisfied?”

  “Hardly.” But he stitched his lips together for now and kept his attention focused on the houses along the way. Stucco and brick homes where there had once been only wood. It was far too overcrowded now, as if contractors tried to stuff every square inch of space with livable square footage.

  His town was different than he remembered. When he’d driven around earlier, it had somehow felt even smaller, hemorrhaging from too many stores, including the new Walmart.

  And as they continued to head toward Riley’s, he nearly halted as they came upon Joe-Joe Pond. Memories flickered to mind as they crossed the little six-foot wooden bridge, which looked about as unstable as it had when they’d been kids.

  He and Riley used to tug a tackle box and his dad’s fishing rods down there, acting like they were big stuff when they had barely been tall enough to reach the railing. He’d put his ball cap on Riley backward, and even as a kid, he’d loved to watch her smiling as the sun caught in the long blonde strands that hung straight down her back.

  He blinked away the memories of the past as they tried to settle like a hard weight in his stomach. He needed them gone if he were going to survive his trip. He couldn’t have flashes of his childhood skipping into his mind every minute, or he’d never be able to focus on finding Ralph’s killer. All he’d be able to focus on would be Riley.

  “Where’s your key?” he asked once they were outside her front door. She lived in a complex that hadn’t existed when they’d been younger, and he was pre
tty sure it now occupied the same space where his childhood barber had once been.

  “Didn’t bring one. My friend’s waiting for me inside.”

  “Boyfriend?” He cleared his throat, willing away the unwelcome feelings swarming him like a storm of bees after a fallen hive. “It’d make me feel better knowing you had a guy staying with you.” His hands became white-knuckled at his sides.

  Her attention skirted to his fists, and then to his face. He felt the pulse in his neck throb. He wasn’t sure how to explain away his weird behavior. Of course, when they’d been friends, he’d always been protective of her, basically rejecting every guy who came within ten feet—well, until Nate had the balls to ask her out.

  Nate’s name crawled through his mind, and his body stiffened. What the hell am I doing?

  “No. My friend Mandy’s inside. She’s a surgeon. Tall, pretty fit. She could probably throw down, even with you.” Her sudden smile took him by surprise. “Does that make you feel better?”

  “It does, actually.”

  “Well, before she sees you and plays the twenty-questions game, I think I’ll go inside.” She turned and gripped the knob. “I guess I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “And, Ben?”

  “Mm-hm?”

  “I’ve decided I don’t want to punch you.” Her eyes met his over her shoulder. “But I think I’ll stick to hating you.”

  He swept a hand to the back of his neck and cupped it. “Fair enough.”

  He waited until he heard the click of her lock once she was behind the door, and then he did a detailed perimeter sweep of the building. There were no security cameras in the twenty-room, two-story apartment complex. And he didn’t like that she lived on the second floor, with only one exit route, which involved using a stairwell with shitty lighting.

  He glanced at the moonless sky. A dark cover of blue-black clouds hung above as he walked back to his hotel.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through a weekend with her in the mountains. But he had no choice. He had to do this for Ralph. For Nate. And he had to keep his screwed-up thoughts and desires for Riley stuffed so far down inside of him that even he’d start to believe his feelings weren’t real.

  Chapter Six

  Ben had been her first kiss. They were eleven, playing spin the bottle at a birthday party, and Nate had been home, sick with the flu.

  When the bottle had landed between the two of them, she saw the pulse in his neck, like his heart was beating harder than normal.

  It had been a quick touch of the lips, and her friends had giggled . . . and her cheeks had become warm. And when the ketchup bottle had matched her with another guy, she’d faked a stomachache and run out of the house.

  Ben had offered to walk her home, but instead, they’d ended up sitting outside on a blanket to study the stars. They used to find constellations and create new names for them since they could never remember the real ones.

  And then, seven years later, Ben had kissed her again.

  Only, that time, she’d been in a relationship with Nate—and Nate had only been a tent away.

  Stargazing, yet again, they’d stayed up all night talking, and then Ben had rolled to his side and just stared at her.

  She remembered the exact moment when his eyes had dropped to her lips, and he’d leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Like the first time it had been quick.

  But the second time it had been a mistake. Ben had jerked away from her and jumped to his feet, dragging his palms down his face.

  She hadn’t known what to think or to say at the time. And he hadn’t given her a chance. He’d taken off down one of the trails, and she hadn’t seen him again until the sun had risen and a new day of climbing had started.

  That’d been the morning Nate died.

  The day her world had ended.

  Now, looking at Ben as he walked down the aisle on the airplane, she found herself staring at his mouth, wondering how good of a kisser he was at thirty-two.

  “Guess we’re next to each other.” A man shoved his bag into the overhead compartment.

  She smiled and shifted back to allow him easier passage to his seat.

  Ben was on the other side of the aisle, stowing his bag.

  Her lip wedged between her teeth as she found his denim backside.

  Carved by steel? Titanium, maybe? What the hell were those glutes made of?

  She knew the sudden pulsing sensation between her thighs had nothing to do with the good-looking man in the leather jacket next to her, and everything to do with Mr. Baseball. The town had started calling Ben that when he was sixteen and had pitched a perfect game.

  Ben nodded at her once he was buckled and shifted his ball cap down, pulling it lower to cover his eyes.

  She hated herself for feeling anything other than anger when thinking about him.

  She’d stayed awake most of last night because every time she shut her eyes, she’d found herself picturing Ben’s muscled frame on top of her, kissing every inch of her body.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d had that fantasy, but it needed to be the last.

  “So, what do you do?” Leather Jacket asked.

  She glanced at him as she finally strapped on her belt. “I’m a psychiatrist.”

  The guy rushed a hand through his brown hair, which had silver streaks at the sides. He was probably in his late forties, and although he was attractive in a polished, pretty kind of way, she’d never been into pretty. No, she liked a man like . . .

  “I’m a doctor, too.”

  Of course, you are.

  “I work at a hospital in Atlanta, though. Is your final stop Atlanta, or are you catching another flight?”

  “Just a layover there.”

  He extended a palm, but she barely noticed since she couldn’t stop focusing on Ben out of the corner of her eye.

  “Name’s Nate.”

  Oh, holy God.

  Ben straightened in his seat and tipped his hat back.

  “Riley,” she said softly and finally took his hand.

  “Isn’t that a man’s name?” The light wrinkles in his forehead deepened as he continued to hold her palm.

  “Goes both ways.”

  “Huh. Well, it’s nice to meet you.” His green eyes cruised over her black, silky blouse and her fitted dress pants, which narrowed at the ankles and were matched with short ankle boots.

  “Mind if I switch, buddy?”

  Riley pulled her hand free at the sound of Ben’s voice over her shoulder. He was standing with his hand on the top of her seat, his head dipped down to make eye contact with the man beside her.

  “I’m good, thanks.” Nate lifted his shoulders in a way that read back off, man; she’s mine.

  “My wife gets a little motion sickness when flying, and I’d hate for her to throw up on you.”

  “Wife?” Nate looked at Riley’s ringless wedding finger and met Ben’s cold stare.

  As much as she hated whatever macho thing Ben was doing right now, she wasn’t in the mood to have trivial conversation with a stranger on the flight. “He’s right. I’m already queasy, and we haven’t taken off yet.”

  Ben’s hand shifted to her shoulder, and he gave it a squeeze. “Sorry, beautiful.”

  Beautiful. Did he have to go there?

  She unbuckled and stood, prompting the man to finally relinquish his spot.

  Once Ben occupied the guy’s seat, she sat down and tried to ignore the close proximity. She tilted back her head, trying to remind herself that he was seriously off-limits, even in fantasy mode.

  “You okay?” he whispered in her ear, and his breath had her skin breaking out into goose bumps.

  “Mm-hm.” She surrendered a quick murmur because she was anything but okay.

  “He looked like a douche, so . . .” he said, clearly not caring if the guy overheard.

  “Yeah, and the man I’m sitting next to now? What is h
e?” She couldn’t stop the words from pouring from her lips.

  “He’s sorry” was all he said before tugging his hat down to hide his eyes.

  * * *

  “So, you assumed that I’d let you ride with me?” She leaned back against the Ford Explorer in the Asheville airport parking lot and tried to remain casual, crossing her arms.

  Although it was December and colder in Asheville than in Alabama, it wasn’t that bad out. She figured once they entered Tennessee and drove deeper into the mountains the weather would change.

  “Yeah, I did.” He opened his palm. “Keys, please.”

  She shook her head. “I can drive.”

  “How many times have you driven on icy roads?” He adjusted his faded Dodgers ball cap, giving her a better look into his eyes.

  “Who said they’ll be icy?”

  “I did my homework,” he was quick to respond.

  She smirked. “What? The Weather Channel app on your phone?” She turned and opened the driver’s side door, but at the feel of his hand on her hip she stilled.

  “Hon—” He paused for a beat. “I’ve driven in all kinds of terrain, even while being shot at with M4s. So, why don’t you leave the driving to me?”

  She knew he was right. She rarely even drove. Period. “Fine.” She shoved his hand off her body. Even though his large palm had rested on her wool peacoat, she could still feel a singe of heat on her skin beneath.

  She lifted her bag, but he reached for its handle, trying to take it from her grip. “Let me.”

  “Chivalry is dead.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he said dryly, and she looked back, tilting her chin up to catch his eyes, which had become darker as if taking on some of the colors from above. The navy sky disappeared into purple-tinted clouds that threatened a storm.

  She’d already secured her suitcase of clothes in the trunk, but this bag was important. It held the ashes of Nate and Ralph. Ben had the urn of Ralph’s wife in his bag, which was sitting by his brown mountaineering boots. She didn’t have her boots anymore. She’d probably need to pick some up in town before they hiked to Nate’s favorite spot tomorrow.