Page 38 of Fire in You

Her top exposed her midriff, revealing a navel pierced with something shiny and dangling. I wanted to grab her by her curly hair and haul her ass out of the bar. She was touching Brock, touching him in a way that said she was familiar with him or she wanted to be. Her pale hand was on his arm as he turned to her, a half-smile on his lips. Kristen leaned into him, pressing her chest to his bicep. Brock was smiling at her, and it was a smile I’d seen before, many times before, but never directed at me.

My breath caught as my chest squeezed. Kristen’s hand had moved from his arm and was now on his stomach—his stomach!

“You see what I’m seeing?” Katie asked.

Squeezing my eyes closed for a moment, I swallowed the rapidly forming knot in my throat. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Oh, Jilly,” she murmured.

I shifted in my seat, embarrassed by her tone. I knew what she was thinking. I was foolish and naive. My heart started racing as I glanced back at the bar. Brock was paying attention to Reece and Colton once more, but Kristen . . . His arm was wrapped loosely around her tiny waist.

The twisting in my chest increased.

“I have to leave soon. Got to head back to work,” Katie was saying, and I dragged my gaze away from Brock. “I can walk you out.”

The knot returned, crawling up my throat. “That’s . . . okay,” I said hoarsely. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

We hadn’t left, though.

I wasn’t even supposed to be at Mona’s that night. Neither was Brock. If he’d done what he’d promised, so many things could’ve been different. He may’ve never crossed paths with Kristen, and perhaps our friendship would’ve remained the same over the years. Or if I had listened to Katie and left with her? Who knows what would’ve happened?

But I wouldn’t have been there, and what happened later that night could’ve happened to someone else or not at all. I’d never know, because I couldn’t go back.

I could never go back.

* * *

It was Tuesday afternoon before I got to speak to Brock about expanding Lima Academy into uncharted territories. He’d disappeared with Kristen on Monday, and didn’t return until later that day, slamming the door shut behind him.

I’d wisely left him alone.

Monday night I’d made two phone calls. First was to Grady, telling him that I wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner Wednesday night because of a work commitment. He’d sounded disappointed, but graciously offered to take me out the following weekend. We’d tentatively made plans for that Saturday.

I’d felt bad for canceling, but I didn’t feel . . . excited about the rescheduled date. Maybe I would once it got closer. Maybe I would make a bigger deal out of it. Get a new dress. Do something special with my hair. Shave my legs.

Bringing out the big guns there.

The second call had been to my mother. We’d chatted for a bit, about how I was settling in at work, and she asked about my date with Grady. We’d talked for close to an hour, and before I’d hung up she finally asked me about Brock.

“How is everything with him?” she’d asked, her voice cautious.

I’d been playing with Rhage, dangling one of those feather-mouse toys. “Things are okay.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely convincing, hon.”

“Well, they actually have been okay. We’re getting along,” I’d told her. “We’re kind of friends . . . again, I guess.”

“Oh, honey, it’s good to hear that. Your father didn’t tell me he was taking over as GM. He knew I would warn you,” she’d explained. “He wants you two so badly to . . .”

I’d stilled. “To what?”

There’d been a stretch of silence. “To just get along. He knows that with you two at the helm in Martinsburg, it will be no time before it’s as successful as the one here.”

It had been nice to hear that, to know my father believed in me, but I also knew, because I wasn’t dumb, that wasn’t the only reason why either of them was asking about Brock and me.

I’d never admitted my feelings for Brock, not to my parents, not to Abby or Katie. Doing so always felt like I could never take it back, but as I’d stared at the muted TV screen, I’d been suddenly so tired of not . . . of just not being honest.

“Mom, I was in love with Brock from the moment he stepped through the front door of our house.”

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