Page 81 of Shea's Hero

“Well, as far as I know, Cash and Ari will be there,” Oliver replies, thankfully unaware of the dangerous path my mind was taking. “So will Ben and Thea. I think Ian and his wife, Rose, are taking a trip out to New Mexico to visit family. Grant and Scarlett should be coming, too.”

“Nora said something about her friend, Jess, coming,” I add. “She said she can’t wait to introduce us.”

“Yeah, I’ve met Jess. She’s quiet but nice.” He pauses. “I don’t know the details, but I think she’s been through some rough times in the past. Maya said something about it. That Nora has kind of taken Jess under her wing.”

A smile touches my lips. “Kind of like me.”

As he slows coming up to a curve, Oliver glances over at me. “I suppose so. You really like Nora, don’t you?”

“I do. You know, it’s partly because of her that I texted you. After the Hop-less Horseman.”

“Really? How so?”

“Well, she was taking me to work. And she could tell I was down. She asked me a little about you, and then she told me about her and Jackson. How she’d broken up with him and thought it was too late to fix it. But it wasn’t.”

“Shea.”

“It got me thinking. Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix things with you, too.”

His eyes on the road again, his jaw tightens in profile. His throat bobs. “I guess I need to thank Nora, then, don’t I?”

I give his leg a squeeze. “I think we both?—”

But I stop as the muscles under my hand go rigid. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his gaze flickers to the rearview mirror, then the side, and back again.

Just like that, tension fills the car.

My pulse jumps to double speed. “Oll? Is everything okay?”

“I’m sure it is.” But his voice is carefully calm, not relaxed like it was just a minute ago. “There’s a car following a little too close behind us. It’s probably just an impatient driver in a hurry to get to work.”

“Okay.” I turn to look over my shoulder, spotting the dark gray sedan less than a car’s-length behind us. “I’m sure you’re right. They’re just running late or something.”

I’m sure that’s the case. Just someone in a rush, maybe they snoozed one too many times this morning, and now they’re racing to get to work on time. We’ve all been there, desperately wishing the person in front of us would go faster, maybe even tailgating a little even though we know darn well we shouldn’t.

Still. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not that simple.

And a rational explanation doesn’t seem to alleviate the pit in my stomach. It’s like that feeling I had at the Hop-lessHorseman when the van pulled up, when I just knew something was wrong.

“There’s a side road about a half mile up,” Oliver says. “If they’re still acting like this, I’ll just pull off and let them go past us.”

A second later, he curses under his breath.

I look behind us again. The car is even closer now, the front of the hood no longer visible. There’s a man in the driver’s seat wearing a hoodie pulled up over his head.

Which isdefinitelynot normal in May.

“Oll…” It’s barely a whisper. I don’t want to panic, this still could be nothing. But that feeling is getting stronger and stronger.

“It’s okay.” Oliver shoots a quick glance at me, his mouth pulled into a taut smile that I think is supposed to be reassuring. “Worst case, I’ll turn around.”

“Turn around?” I don’t mean to sound disbelieving, but we’re on a narrow two-lane road. On either side of us is a metal guardrail, and beyond it, a thick swathe of trees. I’m not sure where exactly he plans to turn.

“I can do a one-eighty,” he explains. “Learned it in a tactical driving course. But I’m sure I won’t have—” He stops. “Fuck.”

Two cars are racing towards us, both in the opposite lane, one directly behind the other. They’re moving much faster than the thirty-five mile an hour speed limit suggests, perhaps even double it.

As I’m watching, one of them pulls into the other lane. The one facing us.

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