Between Hello and Goodbye(10)

Chapter Three



There was absolutely no reason for me to drive to Wilcox Hospital after my shift. None. I had friends there, of course—docs, nurses, and other guys in my line of work whom I saw on the regular. But I had no plans with anyone there that night and didn’t normally make a habit of hanging out at the island’s only hospital for shits and giggles. Kapa’a wasn’t even my fire station; I’d covered a shift for a buddy at the last minute. I shouldn’t have been working the Ho’opi’i Falls Trail or anywhere near Faith Benson and her crappy hiking shoes.

So why was I driving there like a bat out of hell? Still in uniform, no less.

You know why.

Something she’d said stuck with me.

I’d heard variations of the self-improvement song and dance hundreds of times from tourists who thought a selfie at the Hindu temple was going to solve all their problems back on the mainland. But reset had been Morgan’s exact phrasing four years ago when he convinced me—begged and threatened me, actually—to trade New York City for the smallest island in Hawaii. The fact that Faith Benson used it wouldn’t get out of my head.

“It’s just a coincidence,” I muttered and yet I hit the gas harder.

I liked to drive fast, and I drove faster, though it was likely too late. Faith had been admitted hours ago and was probably long gone by now. But when I tore my Jeep into the emergency roundabout, there she was, propped up by a pair of crutches at the curb. Her blond hair fell around shaking shoulders. She was crying and for some mysterious reason, that was utterly unacceptable.

Tires squealing, I screeched alongside the pick-up/drop-off curb and parked behind a dinky white Kia. I climbed out of the Jeep and strode over to her.

“Hey. You okay?”

“No, I am not okay!” she cried, then blinked tearfully up at me in confusion. “Oh. It’s you.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and her green eyes shone with tears as she gazed up at me with something like relief. Like she was just as glad to see me as I was glad to have caught her before she vanished.

Then she tore her gaze away and hurriedly wiped her cheeks. “What are you doing here? Come to get a few more digs at the dumb tourist?”

It was the slap to the face I needed. She didn’t like me, and I had no reason to like her.

Just get her home and get on with your life.

“Is someone picking you up?”

“That’s my Uber.” She jerked her chin at the Kia. “The driver’s trying to find a towel. He doesn’t want my muddy ass on his seat. Can’t blame him but…” Faith’s lower lip trembled but she pulled it together and shook her head defiantly. “No. Never mind. I’m perfectly fine.”

I smirked. “Sure, you are.”

“And your bedside manner hasn’t improved since last we met,” she muttered, then gestured furiously at her muddy leg. “How did this happen? I came here for personal growth. Does this look like personal growth to you? My entire trip is ruined.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “How long are you here for?”

“Two weeks.”

“That’s not so bad—”

“I got here yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“What is so wrong with shopping sprees and long weekends?” she demanded of the parking lot. “What’s so terrible about sleeping in and cocktail parties and meaningless sex?”

“Not much,” I muttered, trying to ignore how those last words zipped straight down my spine.

“This was stupid. I should’ve stayed at home.” Faith huffed a steadying breath, then glared at me. “Asher, right? Once again, why are you here?”

I started to answer, but then she winced as a flash of pain came over her. She didn’t need to be standing on a curb. She needed to get cleaned up, elevate her leg, and get some ice on that ankle.

“Forget the Uber,” I said. “I’ll take you.”

Her green eyes flared and then she tilted her chin stubbornly. “I don’t need your help.”

I blinked irritably. “You want to wait for Towel Boy?”

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, nothing. Just everything you’ve said to me since the moment we met.”

“Maybe you’re growing on me.” I shot her a half-smile. “Like a barnacle.”

She huffed indignantly and was about to protest when the Uber driver rushed over, waving a white towel.

“Got it.” He beamed. “Ready, ma’am?”

Faith winced. “Why is everyone calling me ma’am? I’m twenty-nine, for God’s sake.” She looked between me and the driver, hesitating.

I took a step closer to her so that we were face to face. “I’ll get you home safe,” I swore. “It’s what I do.”

She arched a brow, but I didn’t miss the hard swallow in her delicate throat. “Do you practice lines like that in the mirror?”

“I don’t need to practice.”

Her eyes flared again, and her lips parted but this time she had no snappy comeback. I took the crutches out of her hands and thrust them at the Uber driver. “Carry these,” I barked and then slipped my arm around Faith’s slender waist. I lifted her easily, cradling her around her back and under her knees, and carried her to my Jeep.