Page 85 of Thornhill Road

He was in a blue button-up and jeans, and I’d never seen someone look more out of place.

My thoughts were validated when Jenna leaned toward me and said, “What is this guy doing here? He looks more out of his element than I do.”

“I—I know him,” I stammered.

“What? You do?”

I knit my eyebrows together and sighed as I looked at Jenna and explained, “I had a patient. She died a couple weeks ago.Thatis her youngest son. I have no idea what he’s doing here, but something tells me I have to go talk to him.”

I watched as she peeked over at him before raising her eyebrows at me. “Um, something tells me you’re right, because he just clocked you and he’s headed this way.”

“Shit,” I whispered. I slid off my seat, leaving my clutch on the bar, and tugged my dress down as far as it would go—which wasn’t far.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to go with you?”

“No. No, I got it. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I made my way around a couple tables, my belly twisting uncomfortably as the distance between us shrank. Lance's gaze never strayed from mine as I approached, and he wore a small, satisfied smile.

I didn’t like that he knew where I was. I liked it even less that he’d come looking for me.

“Hi,” I said when he was close enough to hear me. “What are you—what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. Was hoping we could talk.”

I glanced back at the bar, searching for Mustang. He was busy with a customer, but both Jenna and Maverick were watching me. I reasoned that even if I stepped out for a minute, I had plenty of people at my back. Plus, the parking lot was well lit, and we wouldn’t go far.

“Do you want to talk outside?” I asked him, pointing toward the door.

“Sure. That’d be great.”

He turned, headed back that way, and I followed. Wrangler looked at Lance and then at me, a question in his eyes as we passed. I dipped my chin in a nod, signaling I was okay, and stepped out into the night.

As soon as the door shut, dampening the sound of the music and Steel Mustang’s patrons, Lance put a hand to the small of my back, guiding me to walk along the front of the building. I took two steps in the direction he insisted, relaxing a little only when he dropped his hand.

“How did you know I’d be here, Lance?”

“Honestly? I followed you,” he admitted, sounding embarrassed. “The night my mom passed we got in our cars at the same time. I didn’t know where to go, and I don’t even think I was fully conscious of it, but you came straight here. I watched you go inside. I didn’t want to go in, so I left.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“I keep thinking about that night. About how I knew she was going to die, but it still took me by surprise, somehow.”

As we continued our slow walk, I peered up at him and said, “I understand what you mean. Really, I do. Maybe you should talk to someone about it.”

He looked down at me and frowned. “I’m talking to you.”

As gently as I could manage, I clarified, “I mean a professional. Someone who’s trained to help in situations like these.”

“You’re a hospice nurse. You deal with this all the time. Besides, you were with my mom until the end. Some therapist can’t compete with that.”

We’d reached the end of the building, and I stopped walking, already feeling too far away from the door.

“Listen, Lance, I understand how you could think that; but it might be helpful, speaking to someone who is more objective.”

“Well, the thing is—the kind of support I was hoping for? It’s not the objective kind.”

A tinge of fear began to course through my veins a second before he took a step toward me. But a second wasn’t enough time to react, so I took a step back and tried to use my words.

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