Page 96 of High Velocity

He drops a kiss on my lips and returns me to my seat before straightening himself behind the wheel.

We drove to Kalispell early this morning to wrap up loose ends. Our first stop was my apartment, where we were able to pack up stuff I wanted to keep—which wasn’t much—and load it in the back of the truck. I left most of the furniture, which was pretty sparse to begin with, the bulk of the contents of the kitchen, and my TV behind. The landlord can sell it, or rent the place furnished. I don’t really care.

It’s not like I’ll need any of it. There’s no room in Jackson’s cabin, and when we eventually move into the big house, I already warned Jackson I want to shop for new furniture.

Our own furniture, preferably family-friendly.

“Do we need to go anywhere else?” Jackson wants to know.

With butterflies in my stomach, I turn to face him and try to guess how he will react to what is to come.

“We have just one more stop to make.”

Jackson

When she directs me to park in front of a western clothing store, I don’t think much of it.

But then she starts dragging me across the street to an entirely different kind of store.

I’m confused.

“Where are you taking me?”

I mean, I can see where she’s taking me, it’s a standalone building, there really is no mistaking it, but it’s not computing right away.

Then my eye catches on a display in the window and it hits home with the impact of a fist in the stomach. Her face betrays her anxiety as I slam on the brakes, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at her slack-faced.

“You’re shitting me…”

It’s more of a rhetorical question, since the glimmer in her eyes tells me she is dead serious and terrified. Grabbing a firm hold of her hand, I pull her around the side of the building. I press her back against the brick wall and lean in to her, my nose almost touching hers.

“For real?”

She nods, blinking her eyes as I cup her face in my hands.

“You’re sure.”

“One-hundred-percent,” she whispers, a second before my lips cover hers.

“Need help?”

Ma comes down the porch and walks over, as I drop the tailgate on the truck.

“Wouldn’t mind a hand.” I look beyond her. “Is Jonas around?”

“He’s just gone to check in with the contractor. Do you need him?”

I glance over to the construction site on the other side of the driveway. It still looks a bit messy, but the shell of the building is already up. It went surprisingly fast. I can see Jonas looming over a short guy in a hard hat, maybe five foot six or seven, and my stepfather is clearly unhappy about something.

“What’s going on this time?”

This isn’t the first run-in between Jonas and the contractors. It’s mostly a control thing. If this is a foreboding for how things will be when he retires, we’re all in for a rocky ride.

“Oh, I don’t even know,” Ma says, dismissively gesturing with her hand. “He may have found another uneven spot on the concrete floor, or this time it could be a paint drip on the steel beams. Who the hell knows? If he’s not bothering the guys here, he’s up on the hill stirring up shit there.”

Their new house is starting to take shape already as well, but as predicted, the progress is a little slower.

“You should book a trip. Go on a cruise or something. Get him out of here. He says he wants to travel, show you the world. Tell him you need a break. That man will do anything for you. Dan and I can keep an eye out here.”

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