The Good Widow(53)

Nick wraps his hand around the back of my neck and presses his mouth harder against mine. I moan softly, the sound seemingly breaking the spell we’re under.

Nick pulls away so fast it startles me. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, moving a few inches away as if creating a physical distance will stop whatever it is we’ve become. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there.”

“It’s okay,” I say, trying to separate the conflux of emotions I’m experiencing. Grief. Passion. Confusion.

“No—I shouldn’t have done that. And here—of all places—my God.” He cradles his face in his hands. “I just . . . I don’t know what came over me.”

The sky opens up, and the light drizzle that’s been falling turns into a full downpour, but neither of us moves, the ground below us becoming slick.

“Nick—” I start to say more but stop because I don’t have any words ready. As the water soaks me, I wait for my own moment of shock to wash over me. For rational thinking to override my irrational emotions. But it doesn’t. That kiss was the most genuine feeling I’ve experienced since the police showed up at my door. As if it had finally righted the slant I’d been leaning into since James’s death.

Nick looks up, his face tightening. “I’m so sorry, Jacks. I promise I won’t ever take advantage of you like that again.”

I bob my head up and down several times in agreement and hope he’s lying to me.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


JACKS—AFTER

“I don’t think I can do this.” Nick shifts away from me. It’s subtle. The distance between us is barely noticeable, but it feels as vast as the canyon below. A moment ago we were pressed together into one; now we’re two again.

The rain is pounding so hard that every drop is pricking the bare skin of my arms and legs. I wonder what he means. That he doesn’t think he can continue the drive to Hana? Or can’t continue with me? Or both? I say nothing and turn my head to shield my face from the downpour and hide the tears that are flowing again as I glance at the topless Jeep. The heavy rain is falling into it in thick sheets, and I’m not sure which would offer us more of a reprieve from the storm: the concrete bench we’re sitting on or the Jeep. A lightning bolt cracks, making the decision for us.

“It’s close,” Nick yells as the thunder roars a moment later. He jumps up and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the car. “I need your help with this!” he shouts, the rain whipping his face as he jerks his arm toward the soft top that’s retracted in the back. “It’s too slippery to pull by myself.”

I open the back door, climbing onto the seat so I can get a better grip on the wet fabric. “See there?” Nick points to the hook on the roll bar. “We need to latch it first.” Nick heaves as he pushes the roof cover into place and then motions for me to do the same on my side. I thrust and get within an inch, but the hook can’t quite connect. My foot slips on my third attempt, sending me spiraling onto the gravelly ground, and I scrape my elbow, a sharp sting slicing up my arm. I hear another lightning bolt crack. Nick was right—it’s damn close. I lay my head back down, my arm throbbing, and close my eyes—the fight in me almost gone. I wonder if the only thing keeping me going is Nick. And now I’ve somehow ruined that too. Let the bolt come closer, let it hit me right in the chest—it can’t make me hurt any worse than I already do.

Nick stands over me. “You’ve picked a hell of a time to take a nap.” He smirks. “Your elbow okay?”

I examine it, see blood mixed with gravel, and nod. It’s the least painful thing I feel right now. He pulls me up, and I slide into the Jeep, a pool of water already on the seat. But at least the roof is now secure, providing a welcome barrier against the pelting rain.

“We don’t have time to attach the back windows, so this will have to do,” he says as he turns the key and makes a U-turn.

So he’s heading back the way we came. I have at least half my answer. That he can’t continue the drive to Hana.

Part of me is relieved. I’m not clueless—I realize what this trip is doing to me. But leaving now makes me feel like I’m quitting on James, because somewhere along the way, this mission has morphed from an investigation into a good-bye.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” I ask, testing him.

“No. We’re finally going the right way,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road that’s barely visible in front of us. “This was a mistake.”

“Is this because of the kiss?” I ask, even though I already know it is.

Nick shakes his head. “I don’t know. I thought coming here, driving this road, following Dylan’s path, that it would help. Not just me, but you too. I wanted to help you—”

I cut him off. “I know that.”

“But I never expected that I’d—”

“Have feelings for me?” I offer in a burst of confidence.

Nick doesn’t respond for a moment, his eyes still trained on the highway, the wipers thrashing back and forth, barely clearing the water away from the windshield before we’re completely blinded by the rain again. My heart pounds, both for his response and for our safety.

Finally he speaks again. “I never expected I’d turn into the kind of guy who’s mourning his fiancée but kisses another woman.” He clenches the steering wheel harder. “God, this rain; I can barely see. I should pull over. But I’m afraid another car won’t see us and will hit us.”