Page 79 of The Route to You

She lifted her chin. “I just bought a house here.”

The fuck?

“In Nashville?”

She nodded. “And”—she drew a shaky breath—“the reason I drove is because I was in the process of moving here. With Sadie and Charlie.”

He blinked for a long moment. Sadie and . . . “Charlie, the dog?”

Another nod.

Kyle rubbed the scruff of his chin. “But . . . why Nashville?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she set her weight back on one heel. “Why do you think? It’s home. I needed to come home. To come back to the one place in my life where things made sense.”

“So, you bought a house and moved across the country.” He nodded slowly. “Must be nice.”

She flinched. “You know, I don’t remember you being this mean.”

“Well, the last time you saw me, I still had a job, my dignity, and my life hadn’t been stomped all over by a woman who saw me as nothing more than her cab driver out of a mess.”

“My God, is this really what we’re going to do?” Sloan’s hands fisted, and she closed her eyes, as though trying to choose her words carefully. “Argue about which one of us hurt the other worse?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t decide what to say, really. A part of him was too focused on the fact that she was here and only a few feet from him. Warm. Real. Alive and beautiful.

She stepped closer still, then her voice went low and rough, and she touched his cheek. “Isn’t the point that if we’re both so capable of getting hurt by each other, it might mean something? ”

Fuck.

With the way she was staring at him and the heat of her body, so close to his, her touch sending sparks through him . . . he could almost kiss her.

Almost.

But it was Sloan.

Whom he’d loved and lost. Who’d turned her back on him. Maybe even more than once.

He released a slow exhale, then pulled her as close as his warning bells would allow—into his arms for an embrace. Not the kiss that he knew he’d only regret. But her body curved against his, his hands landing against the small of her back and the gentle slope between her shoulder blades.

“It means ,” he said gruffly, “that we both messed up. Apparently.” And then, because he couldn’t help but try to lighten the situation, he added, “So, I’m sorry I was in the hospital and unable to call you.”

She sniffled, shaking her head as she stepped back with a tearful smile. “But you’re okay, right? When I heard, I thought⁠—”

“What? That you’d find me in a wheelchair or something?” He winked. “Nope, just more bionic than I used to be. Torn rotator cuff and a punctured lung. Punctured—unfortunately—by my own collarbone. Which is as painful as it sounds.”

She winced, squeezing his arm. “You scared the shit out of me. What the hell were you doing?”

“Jet Ski. I . . .” Was reckless. “. . . hit some wake a little harder than I should have.” Then he changed the subject abruptly, before she could continue that line of questioning. “You really brought the dog? How is he?”

“Charlie?” Her face lit up. “Yes, I adopted him. And she is great. Had eight puppies right after we rescued her. I wanted to keep all of them, but sanity won out in the end.”

He peered at her. “That’s debatable.”

“You want to see her?”

“Charlie?”

She nodded. “My house isn’t far. About twenty minutes from here.”