Side Trip(93)

She checks her settings. “Yes, why?”

“Dylan recorded something for you the night before his flight. I found it recently on our servers. I take it he never sent it to you?”

“I never received anything from him.”

“I’m not sure when he planned to give this to you, if at all. But it’s yours.” He drops the WAV to her phone and she accepts the file. Pressure builds in her chest. She wants to rush to her car to listen while at the same time she never wants to play it. To hear Dylan’s voice knowing he’s gone? Her lower lip trembles. It’s hitting her that she will never see him again.

“I should go.” She gathers her purse, phone, and keys.

Chase pushes the notebook across the table. “Keep this. Dylan would have wanted you to have it.”

Joy doesn’t hesitate. She hugs the notebook to her chest.

Chase leaves a twenty on the table, more than enough to cover his coffee. Joy leads them out of the diner and turns to him in the parking lot.

“Thanks for coming. I would have wondered.”

Chase drops his shades onto the bridge of his nose and slides his hands into his pockets. “What if you and Dylan didn’t agree to meet up today?”

“I think we would have found our way back to each other sooner.”

Dylan has been on her mind for a decade. Their deal kept her emotionally tethered to him. The circumstances under which they met kept her rooted in the past throughout her marriage. It had her waiting for three years after her divorce, hoping.

Chase looks out toward the interstate and his cheek flexes from clenching his jaw. For the first time, it occurs to Joy how Dylan’s death must have affected him. He lost his cousin, best friend, and business partner. The loss must have been devastating.

He brings his gaze back to her. Regret twists his expression. “I wish you guys did.”

“So do I.” There are so many decisions she wishes that she made differently. “But that’s all retrospect. There isn’t anything we can do about it now but try to live our lives the best we can.”

Chase watches her for a long moment. “You’re a remarkable woman, Joy. I see why Dylan loved you.”

Joy smiles sadly. What she wouldn’t give to hear Dylan say those words.

The pressure in her chest moves up to her throat. “Goodbye, Chase.” It takes everything in her to keep her voice calm.

“Take care, Joy.”

Chase politely waits as she gets into her car before he settles in his. He rolls down the passenger window and gives her a short wave before backing out. His luxury sports car rockets onto the highway before she can press the Mini’s ignition button. Her phone automatically syncs with the car, and with a jittery finger, she starts Dylan’s recording.

“Hello, Joy.” His voice, liquid gold, fills the interior. Memories of him and their trip pour into her head and an image so vivid of him riding alongside her appears that she feels like he’s there. That she can reach across the seat and slide her hand in his. The wind blows his hair, the convertible top open, his arm relaxed on the door. A smile stretches wide amid the sexy shadow of stubble. He challenges her in a road trip game, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Emotions she’s kept on the back burner flame bright. A desperate sense of loss carves out her chest. Tears run freely down her cheeks.

“Hi, Dylan,” she whispers back at the recording.

“I have a confession and an apology,” he begins, then pauses. “Guess I’ll start with the confession. I didn’t honor our deal.”

Which one? she wonders.

“Any of our deals,” the recording continues and Joy lightly laughs. Then she cries, because he sounds so down on himself. “Believe it or not, I knew your last name from almost the moment we met. I saw it on the credit card you used at Rob’s. Joy Evers. Evermore. Ever mine, or I’d like to think so. I’ve thought about you, every day. I looked you up all the time. I set up a Facebook account. I know, crazy. Pigs are flying. But I wanted to see your posts. I guess I wanted . . . I don’t know. A sign that you missed me, too?

“God, I’ve missed you. I didn’t expect how much I would. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you either, but I did. I love you, Joy,” he whispers.

Oh, Dylan.

He said the words. She chokes back a sob.

“It isn’t easy loving someone from a distance, which is why I owe you an apology. I tried to stop loving you. That’s why I produced Joyride. I thought if I worked on the project and got my words out into the open, that loving you without being with you wouldn’t hurt so bad. It didn’t work. It just made me love you more and myself less. I didn’t keep what happened between us on the road. I shared it with the world knowing you would hear the tracks. I should have asked you beforehand, or even mentioned something after, but I didn’t. And for that, I’m sorry. Forgive me?” His voice breaks over the last word.

“Yes,” she whispers. The salty moisture of tears itches her face. She roots in her purse for a tissue only to freeze when she hears his guitar. “I should have sung this to you years ago,” he says, launching into “Joyride,” not the fast-paced, upbeat version Trace the Outlines recorded. Dylan’s rendition is silky and haunting, the way he’d hummed the tune as he worked out the notes that night they slept under the stars. He sings the song the way it was meant to be sung. He sings of love unexpected and lives intertwined, of how she found a space in his heart. That she took him on a ride to a brighter place.