Side Trip(76)

“No!”

He waves the photo. “You were different when you arrived, now I know why. I thought you were homesick, but no. You were missing him.” He throws the photo at her. It arcs in the air, then spirals to the floor, landing at her feet. She doesn’t dare pick it up.

“Are you still seeing him?”

“No. And I haven’t talked to him either, not since I got to New York,” she volunteers, her voice rough with emotion.

His hand dives into the box and comes out with Judy’s Route 66 Bucket List. Joy’s stomach rolls. She swallows repeatedly, silently willing him not to read it. But he does, and his face pales. “Does he know what happened to Judy? Did you tell him?”

Her lower lip trembles. “Mark . . .”

“Fuck. You crossed out fall in love.” He shifts the box in his arms. “You fucking love him.”

“Don’t . . .” She looks at the photo on the floor, shakes her head.

“Why did you marry me?”

“I loved you.”

“Loved. Nice slipup, Evers.” He stares harshly at her before looking away. When he looks back at her, his eyes sheen with unshed tears. “Were you ever in love with me?”

She nods.

“Until you met him.” He points at the photo on the floor. “Is he the reason you pushed back our wedding? Is he why you don’t want kids with me? Were you hoping—?” He stops abruptly and she has no idea what he was about to say. She doesn’t want to know.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said, more sincere than she’s ever been with him.

“Us, Joy. You hurt us.” Mark sets down Judy’s box and walks out the front door.





CHAPTER 27





BEFORE


Dylan

Litchfield, Illinois

Dylan woke the following morning with his arms around Joy, her backside against his stomach, and a vibration under his head. It tickled his ear.

He eased his arm from under Joy, careful not to wake her, and searched for her phone under the pillow. They’d fallen asleep in the gray hours before dawn whisper-singing along to eighties music videos on YouTube.

He didn’t remember drifting off. All he could comprehend right now was that he’d spent the most epic twenty-four hours with Joy, and that she was still in his arms. His entire body ached. Not complaining there. But it was a feat to move just an arm, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

Finding the phone, Dylan held the device above them. Mark’s mug glared down at him as the phone vibrated. Not the face he wanted to wake up to.

Joy moved languidly in his arms, and a vision filled him. He stands on the balcony of his new Malibu home, overlooking the ocean. Joy walks through the door, naked as she is now, and comes up behind him. Her arms wrap his waist. He can feel her breasts against his back. “Good morning,” she says, and presses a kiss to his spine. He feels it to his heels. He turns, taking her into his arms. “Morning, love,” he tells her before his mouth covers hers.

Dylan wanted more mornings like this one.

Joy’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on the phone above her in his hand. He felt the moment she saw who was calling. She stiffened. His eyes closed and an unsettled heaviness filled his chest. The vision faded from his mind.

Joy grasped his wrist with one hand and plucked the phone from him with her other. She bolted upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and answered the call. The bed suddenly felt cold.

“Hello?” Her voice croaked from exhaustion.

He’d made her that tired, Dylan thought, smug.

“I’m safe . . . I found a hotel until the storm passed . . . You did?” She glanced at Dylan over her shoulder but didn’t make eye contact. “I’m sorry, I should have called. We—I mean, I—Hold on.”

She stood, fully nude, and his breath caught. So beautiful. Her gaze searched the room, landing on her luggage. She grabbed the case and strode to the bathroom with the phone pressed to her ear. “Can this wait until I get home? . . . Calm down, please . . . Okay, I’m listening.”

The bathroom door shut and locked. She’d barely looked at him and he tried not to think what the one glance she’d spared him meant. He was her guilty one-nighter.

She, on the other hand, was the most incredible twenty-four hours of his life.

Dylan rolled onto his stomach and hugged the pillow under his chin. He’d stopped counting the number of times they’d made love, because that had been what they were doing. Making love. At some point during their marathon, what was happening between them had become more than sex to him.

Dylan raked back his hair. Three nights left before she dropped him off at the airport. He wanted more, and he’d almost asked yesterday on the roadside. He hadn’t planned to. The thought just appeared and tripped off his tongue. What if this trip didn’t have to end?

Joy had wanted to know what he was going to say. But her slick skin wrapped in a towel and the hunger in her eyes distracted him. Their conversations last night never veered back to it.

“Fuck.” His heart raced. This was huge for him. But was it really what he wanted? Judging by the goofy grin he wore, yes. Relationships were a complicated mess, and he still feared he’d fuck it up. But he wasn’t ready to let Joy go.

Dylan heard the shower start and blew out a breath, disappointed she hadn’t asked him to join her. He could hear her muffled voice. She was still on the phone.