We did make a baby together. But he wasn’t there for the birth, and the first two years of Bristol’s life feel like a tightly woven lie. The guilt I feel over it all tears at me, and I fear it will for years. But the threat that pushed me to lie in the first place still exists. And he sent me a letter to make sure I don’t forget.
“Ready?” Bailey searches my eyes, brushing something from my cheek that I hope isn’t a gray hair. I have a small handful of those. They’re new. Stupid stress!
Before I can catch her hand and beg her to tell everyone I’m not feeling well, she slinks away and practically skips down the stairs, announcing to everyone—to Dustin—that I’ll be there in a minute. I hover just outside my door, listening to the rest of them gather keys and coordinate who rides with whom, eventually carrying their conversation outside. The door closes behind them. The click of a lock follows, and Dustin clears his throat. He’s keeping me safe.
My breathing is rapid, a bit like I get before a panic attack, so I flatten my hand on my chest and count to four for every inhale and exhale.
“Be right there,” I shout, not wanting him to worry and bound up here looking for me.
I give a quick downward glance to the girls to make sure they’re pushed up and showing their best selves, and when I decide this is as good as I’m going to get, I fold my sweater over my arm and move toward the stairs. Dustin’s back is to me as I trail down to the first floor, and I manage to make it only two steps away from him before he turns to face me. He glances up from reading something on his phone, and before his mouth forms whatever first word he intended to say to me, all that slips out is a slowly drawled “fuuuuccckk me.”
My mouth automatically moves to form an impish grin as he shoves his hands into his back pockets, along with his phone. He steps closer at first but then rocks back, eyes roaming my full length. As much as I feel as if my thighs are popping through the threadbare holes in the denim of my past, I also think maybe I’ve still got some sex appeal in the tank.
“I don’t get to dress up often. Is it too much?” I bite my lip, completely on purpose and to be coy.
“For a Santa hike?” He lifts a brow, his gaze glued to my cleavage before flitting up to meet my eyes. “Not at all.”
I blush. It burns my cheeks, and while it’s been awhile since I played the flirt, it’s also a bit like riding a bike. My comfort picks up fast.
“Good, because I have a wish list for that old man. I plan on taking his knee.”
I wink at Dustin and move toward the door. He chuckles behind me.
“I’m pretty sure Earl’s friend Gary plays Santa, and if you sit on his lap in those jeans, dude’s going to have a heart attack.”
Dustin is flirting back, and it feels . . . nice. It still isn’t quite that full-on electricity that I used to find so damn irresistible between us. I chased that feeling, orchestrated moments to watch it flourish. I bet on it—on where it would take us. And for the first time in a long time, I crave it.
“We should go,” I say, turning to face the doors and work open the locks. Dustin’s hand covers mine when I reach for the bolt, and I slip my hand away nervously.
“Sorry,” I utter at the same time he does. His breath tickles the side of my cheek and I will myself not to turn to test how close he truly is. It’s too early yet. I’ll know when it’s right. He’ll let me know.
“Here,” he says, flicking the lock and reaching in front of me to turn the handle. I step back as he swings the door open, and he makes sure to lock the house as soon as we step outside. He’s being cautious, which is an odd suit for him to wear.
He rushes around to the passenger side of the Supra, opening the door wide for me and holding out his hand to help me in. I twist my lips up, mocking his offer, but he lets his head fall sweetly to the side and shakes his palm gently in the air between us.
“For just this once, Banana. Let me be a gentleman.”
And there it is.
I slide my palm across his, heat burning through my skin when we touch, and his fingers close around my hand as I lower myself into the car. His eyes linger on me for a beat and he ticks out a short laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head before shutting the door.
“What was that look for?” I ask the second he climbs into the driver’s side.
He chuckles as he buckles up and fires up the car, straightening his arms as his hands flex comfortably round the wheel. His gaze pops over to me, starting at my thighs and climbing up to my eyes in one fluid stroke.
“Restraint, Hannah. That look was for restraint.” He gives me a tight-lipped grin and returns his focus to the rearview mirror and soon the road.
It’s a twenty-minute drive to the trailhead, and Dustin has music playing in the background. I recognize the playlist from the one he drove to before his first circuit race. By the time he hit the track for real, I had every lyric memorized. Before I left Arizona, I downloaded a copy of it and listened to it almost every day during my walks.
“Why the sly grin, Banana?”
I didn’t realize I was smiling until he pointed it out. I look to my side and catch his glance. I also note the roll of his hands around the steering wheel. He’s nervous. He’s called me Banana twice now. Twice.
“I like this song is all.”
He looks at me again and our eyes hold for a full second, his mouth smiling on the side closest to me.
“This was my first big race. I think of this playlist as my power jam. Stupid, right?”
I shake my head.
“Not stupid at all.”
It was mine, too.
The highway is empty thanks to the holiday, so for the few miles we have to travel on it, Dustin does Dustin, showing off. I imagine this is what animals do in the wild when they want to mate; they spread feathers and pheromones to lure unsuspecting females into their web. Dustin? He drives fast.
It’s sexy as hell.
He races around the curve of the off-ramp and I don’t even bother to hold on to the side of the door, letting the force pull my body toward him. I give in to the laughter as our youth overlaps our now and my chest bubbles with actual glee.
“You should feel it on the track,” Dustin says, his mouth stretched into the most magnificent smile I’ve ever seen. He sinks the gas pedal to the floor, finishing the loop while the tires grip desperately to the road to hold on, skidding us to a stop that lights the air on fire with the scent of rubber. I fall back into my seat and laugh, feeling free for the first time in three years.
“I can’t imagine doing that at two hundred plus,” I say, excitedly slapping my hands on my thighs. Dustin’s smile pushes higher into his cheeks with pride.
“It’s pretty great,” he says, his teeth gripping his bottom lip like a little boy embarrassed about showing off.
The engine quiets and the next song slips in, a slower one—one we’ve kissed to so many times. In this sudden quiet, it’s impossible not to feel the pull of our history. My eyes dart to his lips and his tongue slips between his front teeth just before he breathes out a light laugh.
“You need to win, Dustin.”
My stomach twists. I don’t know why I said that, and why it was out loud. But it had to be said and I had to say it. Dustin’s eyes shift to me, and the carefree grin falls.