Page 47

That’s probably all this is. But I can’t help being worried. What if something happened after he left the garage? What if the truck broke down again? What if he got into an accident? He could be sitting on the side of the road somewhere right now, and I’d have no way of knowing.

I check my phone for the bazillionth time. No messages. I’m not sure why I keep thinking that if I stare at it long enough, a response will magically come through. I briefly consider texting Eli. I even pull up my message thread with him, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What the hell would I even say? Have you heard from Chace? Because it’s two in the morning and I’m worried about him, and I miss him.

Oh, hell no.

I’m still hovering over the open thread when headlights sweep across the camp lot, heading in this direction. Relief washes over me the second the familiar shape of his truck comes into focus. It lasts all of half a second before pure rage takes its place.

Chace backs the truck and camper into the space I left open for him when I set up his tent yesterday. I stand there with my arms crossed as he climbs out, looking exhausted and dirty. Some of my anger fades when I notice something off about the way he moves, and that anxiety starts creeping right back in. I can’t tell if he’s drunk or just completely worn out.

He finally looks at me then and says, “Didn’t expect you to still be up, Sunshine.”

My earlier concern evaporates the second he uses my nickname. “Don’t Sunshine me. Where the hell have you been, Chace? It’s two o’clock in the friggin’ morning! You should’ve been here hours ago.” Before I even think about what I’m doing, I’m advancing on him, moving straight into his personal space. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make a joke right now. I’ve been waiting around for hours. I was struggling to think of a reason why you would go completely radio silent for hours that didn't involve you being dead in a ditch.”

Something flickers across his face, and he has the decency to look ashamed before he sidesteps me, moving toward the camper jacks. "I didn't think it would matter to you," he says, quieter.

"Well, it does." The admission is out before I can stop it. “Chace, where have you been?” I demand, following on his heels. I plant myself in front of him so he can't keep pretending the camper jack needs his attention. "Just tell me where you were. That's all I'm asking. One honest answer."

I see the shift in him—the rise of his shoulders, the intake of breath—like a computer program recalibrating before he speaks. “Aww, did you miss me that much, Sunshine?”

“No, I said you don’t get to do that, Chace. I’m serious. I was ten seconds away from calling Eli to see if he’d heard from you. We can’t be partners on the road if you’re going to disappear on me. That’s not okay. So don’t deflect with your bullshit. Where were you?”

He pulls the jack out from the side of the camper harder than he needs to, causing him to wince in pain. Fear courses through me again, and I move toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Chace, you’re hurt. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

He brushes my hand off, but finally turns to face me, his expression settling into something deliberately casual. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. I had some things to do, that’s all. Got caught up and lost track of time. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He nods toward the camper. “Go to bed, Addie. Everything’s fine.”

“You lost track of time?” That’s bullshit. “You stopped texting me hours ago, Chace. I don’t care what you do with your time, but common courtesy dictates you at least communicate with your travel partner. You lost track of time," I repeat. "For eleven hours?"

"Something like that."

"That's not an answer, Chace, that's a—" I stop, press my lips together, and try again, because I can feel my voice cracking, and I refuse to let it. "You stopped texting me at three in the afternoon. I watched you disappear in Sheridan and come back at two in the morning. Now here, again, and every single time I ask, you give me nothing. You give me a shrug and a joke and this—" I gesture at the whole easy, unbothered thing he’s aiming for—"this thing you do where you act like caring makes me the crazy one."

"I never said you were crazy."

"You didn't have to." My throat is tight, and I hate it. I hate that I'm this close to tears over a man who didn’t care enough to send me a simple text.

A look I don’t recognize moves across his face, and for half a second I think I've reached him. I think he's going to give me something real.

Then a slow smile spreads across his face instead. "Aw. Seems to me like you do care what I was doing."

“No,” I deny quickly. This isn't about what he was doing, or who he was with. “I couldn’t care less. I don’t care if you were off at a bar, or doing God knows what with God knows who. That’s the farthest thing from my mind.” I’m totally lying, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

"Is that right?" He steps closer. So close I can feel the heat coming off him, and every furious thought in my head just… disappears. He's standing so close to me, and I hate the way my body responds.

“Last I checked, I don’t need a babysitter, Dawson. Same as you. Remember?” He lifts my chin with one finger, forcing me to look him directly in the eyes. “Unless you’re looking to change the rules.” His mouth tips into a dangerous grin. “I could tuck you in tonight. Make sure you’re real safe and sound.”

How in the world did we get from him showing up late and not communicating with me to my skin feeling like it’s on fire and wanting him to do despicable things to me while he throws my own words back in my face?

I know he’s using this pull between us as a way to deflect anything real. The worst part is that it’s working, and knowing this doesn't make me want to stop him.

His finger is still under my chin, and he’s close enough that I can feel the heat pouring off him, close enough that I watch his eyes drop from mine to my mouth and stay there, darkening. Every rational thought I've ever had evaporates into thin air.

Every brush past me in a narrow space. Every Sunshine. Every time he leaned in close enough to make my heart stutter and then pulled back grinning. He’s keeping score, waiting me out– just like I have been. When I kiss you, it'll be because you beg me. He's been saying it like a promise and a dare all in one.

God help me, I’m going to break. "Chace." It comes out of me barely above a whisper. "Please."

His eyes snap up to mine. Just for a fraction of a second. One heartbeat where I watch something crack open behind them, something that's been holding on by a thread all summer and just ripped apart at my plea.

And then his mouth is on mine. There's nothing careful about it. His hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back as he takes my mouth like he's been starving for it, and my knees go weak. He catches me. One arm wraps around my waist and hauls me into him, and I hold on to fistfuls of his shirt for dear life. The kiss is intense, and yet he doesn't rush. His lips are firm. His tongue is soft. His stubble rakes against my skin and sends sparks shooting through every inch of me. Down my throat. Down my spine, straight to my center.