In short, he’d overreacted and been a real fucking jerk. He exhaled, long and shaky, then scrolled to some of the more recent posts. She’d done a big write-up about the mud run, including all the people she’d met, how some kind strangers had encouraged her to get to the end, and the dinner she’d shared with her new sponsor. He gobbled up the information, aware that he should have been there with her. Should have met the people she did and shaken hands with the guy, Andrew Walters, who was making her dream a reality. Instead, she’d had Kyle by her side. Kyle, who hadn’t let her down. Hot, painful emotion simmered within him, but he tamped it down and tried to be grateful that she’d had someone with her while he’d been pickling his liver.
After that came a handful of short, bubbly posts discussing her plans to go hiking with Kat, and the travel preparations she’d made for herself and a woman named Holly McDaniel, who would be her support person and guide. His replacement. At least she’d chosen a woman. He wasn’t sure he could have handled the thought of her lodging with another man.
Perhaps it meant he was a bad person, but part of him hoped she was faking her excitement. He wanted her to miss him as much as he’d missed her. He searched the text for anything that might clue him in as to her mental state, but came up empty. She was a pro at putting on a good face for her audience. He supposed that’s what came of learning at a young age how to set those around her at ease.
He closed his laptop and went for a long walk along the beach. As far as he was concerned, the night couldn’t pass quickly enough. All he wanted was to see Brooke and find out whether he’d burned his bridges.
28
She’s back.
The minute he read the message from Kat, Jack jogged to his four-wheel drive, jumped into the driver’s seat, and threw it into gear. He’d been waiting all morning, in his best jeans and a blue button-down shirt, ready to go at a moment’s notice. A gift-wrapped box occupied the front seat because he hadn’t wanted to turn up empty-handed. When he arrived at Sanctuary, he parked, smoothed his shirt, grabbed the box, and headed straight to Brooke’s bedroom.
“Come in,” she called when he knocked.
He eased the door open and stepped inside. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hair in a messy bun with a pencil sticking out of it, and her glasses askew on her nose. Her laptop was on her knee and when she straightened, he noticed her t-shirt had a picture of Darth Vader printed across the front, with the words Who’s Your Daddy? beneath. His heart pitter-pattered and a smile broke out over his face. She was completely adorable, completely perfect, and—if he could persuade her—completely his.
“Hi, Brooke.”
“What are you doing here?” Her eyes narrowed, but rather than the anger he’d expected, her tone was icy and oddly hesitant. Her expression faded to something neutral, like she was shielding herself from him until she knew whether he could be trusted not to snuff out her vibrancy.
He yearned to touch her. To reawaken her natural zing. Not just because he found her attractive and likable or any other foolish lie he might once have told himself, but because he loved her. He adored her. If she decided she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d sat atop the peak of Everest, he’d carry her there on his shoulders.
He hoped he wasn’t too late. “Can we talk?”
Her gaze flicked to her laptop, then she set it aside and slid off the edge of the bed, coming to her feet a few yards from him. He longed to gather her into his arms and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her.
“Let’s get coffee and sit outside,” she suggested.
His stomach sank to his shoes. She didn’t want to be alone with him, and it stung. “I’d rather we speak privately, if you’re comfortable with that.”
She cast around, looking for a way to avoid him, but he didn’t offer up any solutions. He couldn’t afford to. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she jerked her head up. “Fine. But only for a few minutes. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Relief weakened his knees, and they tried to knock together but he ignored them. He’d take what he could get. Before he launched into what was bound to be a difficult conversation, he stuck out his hands and offered her the box.
“This is for you.”
Was this seriously happening?
Big, craggy Jack Farrelly was in her room, looking sexy as all get-out despite the weariness dragging down the corners of his eyes, while she was sloppy and unkempt, wearing clothes from the bottom of the drawer because she hadn’t made it as far as the shower yet. As if that weren’t enough, he was trying to foist the ugliest gift box she’d ever seen onto her. Swear to God, whoever wrapped it had used a whole roll of tape, scrunched the edges, and tried to hide that fact by covering the outside with ribbon. All the ribbon in the world couldn’t hide the words “Merry Christmas” in repeating green script across the paper.
“What’s this?” she asked, accepting it with the same caution she’d reserve for a hand grenade. She studied his face, trying again to deduce why he’d come. Did he want to yell at her some more? Because she wasn’t in the mood.
Shoulders hunched, he shoved his hands into his pockets, and shifted from one foot to the other. “A gift.”
She made no move to open it. “Why?”
He shrugged, staring at her from beneath his lashes, strangely shy. “I think it’s customary to bring a present at times like this.”
“Times like what?” she growled, frustrated by his pussy-footing around.
Holding her gaze, he sank onto the end of her bed, his weight causing her pens to slide toward him. “Why don’t you just open it?”
“Fine.” Rolling her eyes, she yanked out the desk chair and lowered herself onto it. She grabbed scissors and slit the paper open because she didn’t think she’d be able to bust through the tape, then she drew the paper back to reveal something soft within a layer of tissue. Peeling off the tissue, she shook out something fabric, and held up a pair of merino wool tights.
Jack cleared his throat. “They’re icebreakers. The very best.”
She tossed the empty wrapping aside, and something else fell from it. Bending, she scooped up a small flashlight. The kind that could be strapped onto a person’s forehead.
“It has a long-life battery, and once the battery dies, there’s a solar component so you never run out of light.”
“Unless you’re in Antarctica in the middle of winter,” she replied absently, flicking it on and rearing back when a brilliant white beam shot into her eyes. She switched the light off and blinked to clear the spots from her vision, then looked from the headlight to the tights and back again, too scared to ask why he was giving them to her out of the blue.
“Thank you, this is very sweet. I—uh—” She tried to modulate the pitch of her voice, which had risen precariously. “I don’t know what to say.”
He clasped his hands together, and she studied them, not meeting his gaze—afraid that if she did, she’d be captured and drawn back into his magnetic field. “They’re for when you go to Everest. I wanted to give you something useful, rather than something you’d enjoy for a few days and throw away.” His voice was husky. It slid over her like velvet on skin, and she shivered. “I hope you like them.”