Page 33 of Still Missing You

Doesn’t the sun ever shine in this town?

I sit at the desk tucked away in the turret, laptop open in front of me, while rain pelts the windows and blurs the dreary street through the glass. Outside, the sky is brightening, the blue-dark of early dawn giving way to another dull morning. After three straight days of gray skies and rain, I’m starting to feel like I’m living in a cloud. From where I sit, the rounded windows let me see the road at the front of the inn and the long yard in the back at the same time. Beyond the long yellowed grass, three ancient wooden sheds sag near the treeline, looking one hard storm away from collapse.

To make everything worse, my knee throbs. Between the cold and damp, and spending the better part of yesterday cooped up in my truck watching for Kirkland, I shouldn’t be surprised.

I took a couple of ibuprofen when I first woke up and managed to untangle myself from Dylan’s limbs. The painkillers have taken the edge off, but they haven’t chased the ache away completely.

Behind me, Dylan sleeps on in the bed we shared, sprawled like a starfish. I can hear his deep, even breaths, and a part of me wants to slip under the covers with him again, pull his warm body against mine and let his rhythmic breathing lull me back to sleep.

Despite the appeal, I know it won’t happen. My thoughts have been spinning since I woke up, impossible to settle. I’d tried to distract myself with work, but I still couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan.

He’d come to the hospital. I still couldn’t quite believe it; while I’d been recovering from the gunshot that had ended my career with the Burlington Police Department, Dylan had been there. Or he said he was there, but why lie, especially after all these years? Besides, he’d known about Jenna and my mom being there.

The real question is why. Why had he come to see me after so long? Had he been afraid I’d die without knowing he was alive? That couldn’t be it. He’d assumed I knew why he’d left, and seeing Jenna wouldn’t have chased him away if he’d just come to make amends for disappearing. Had he just been afraid for me? Afraid of losing me? That didn’t make sense. We’d lost each other long ago.

I could always just ask him, I guess. So far, he’s been very forthcoming, but I know I won’t. Between his admission last night and how good it feels fucking him again, hope lights up in my chest, a faint glowing ember on the brink of burning out for good, and the possibility leaves me hollow inside. I don’t want to lose that small, smoldering ember. Instead, I want to protect it, cup my hands around it, and blow gently so it glows brighter.

What the fuck am I thinking? I don’t really believe we could start over. Too much time has passed since we were together. We have our own lives, businesses, and friends.

What we’re doing now, working together and fucking, is good. Really good. It would have to be enough.

Just thinking of Dylan’s hot mouth swallowing me down, the desperate moans and whimpers he made while I jerked him off, makes my dick heavy.

A low groan from the bed cuts into my tumultuous thoughts. I look over at Dylan, stretching, then reaching for me across the bed. When he finds only crumpled blankets, he sits up frowning until his gaze meets mine, then he smiles, soft and sleepy. Something in my chest squeezes. Shit.

“Hey,” he says around a yawn. His sleep-roughened voice shivers over my skin.

“Hey, there’s coffee.” I point to the paper cup on the dresser.

He shoves back the blankets and scrambles out of bed. “You’re a saint.”

He’s still naked when he crosses the room, and my face heats watching his lithe, sinewy frame, which is ridiculous given everything we did together just a few hours ago—and all the things I want to do now.

I drop my gaze back to the computer screen, pretending to focus on the meaningless words in front of me. “It’s probably not hot anymore.”

It’s been nearly half an hour since I drove to the nearby café.

“I don’t even care.” He takes a swig. “Not hot, but not cold yet. What time is it? Did I sleep late?”

I shake my head and look up at him. His hair is sticking up at strange angles; there’s a rough scruff of stubble on his cheeks, and even after rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he’s still squinting at me a little.

And he’s the sexiest man I think I’ve ever known.

I have to fight the urge to push him back into the bed and press my mouth to his warm skin. My dick twitches, and I clear my suddenly dry throat, pushing the image from my mind before what I’m thinking becomes visibly obvious.

“It’s not quite eight. You’re fine.”

“You must have been up for a while. Couldn’t you sleep?”

I shake my head. “I figured I’d get some work done. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What kind of work?” Dylan sets his cup down on the dresser, grabs yesterday’s jeans from the floor and drags them on.

“I ran some more background checks on Matthew now that we have his full name.”

He pulls on a thick turtleneck sweater, the same slate color as the clouds outside. “Did you find anything? I wouldn’t think Robert Matthew Fraiser is all that unique.”

“More than I expected.” I figured I’d get the basics right away, but anything more in-depth, I might have to wait a few days. Once I’d found him, however, his past was easy to track. But that’s what happened when you’re tied to a missing person who disappeared under mysterious circumstances. “He’s from Maine.”