“Good night, Bobby,” she said, pushing open her door, all too aware that just the sound of his voice, the anticipation of what he would say, was cracking her fragile shell. She didn’t want to cry; she didn’t want to yell. She just wanted away.
She was at the door in a flash, her hand shaking as she struggled with the keys. Suddenly, Bobby was there, big, warm, overpowering. His arms closed around her from behind, and he gently helped her unlock the door.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut, and for a few seconds, she allowed herself to revel in the feel of him holding her. Of the familiar warmth, strength, comfort. And yes, even passion. But she knew it was short-term. She knew he’d promise more and give her what he’d given her in the car. Withdrawal. And she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live through it again.
“You wouldn’t even talk to me in the car,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Let me go, Bobby.”
“I’m not letting you go ever again,” he said and before she knew his intention, she was in the door and it was shut. He held her tightly in his arms. He repeated his words. “I’m not letting you go.”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I am. I’m letting go.”
He ground his teeth until a muscle flexed in his jaw, steely silence, raw torment in his gaze that reached inside her and twisted and had her adding, “You shut me out again.”
“I am trying to make sense of the past seven years,” he said. “I left you. I left him. It took Kate to save him. That’s a lot to swallow.”
“I could tell you, you might not have been able to save him. The timing and the right person make all the difference. But I’m not the right person for you, Bobby. I’m the one you shut out.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not ready to say goodbye. You still owe me one night.” He gave her a quick kiss and then he was gone.
Jennifer couldn’t move; her mind spun with the implications of his words. One more night. One. Not two. Not a week. Not a lifetime. One. He’d agreed all too easily. That shouldn’t surprise her. She’d seen how he’d pulled away over his father, how he still struggled with the past. And as much as she wanted Bobby, she didn’t want him halfway. He was either in this or not. Obvious the “not” had the win here. But if he expected, after all she’d been through, to choose their final night, he had another think coming. “Damn you, Bobby,” she whispered. “You don’t get to decide when we say goodbye this time. Not this time.” Somehow, she was going to do this on her terms.
18
THE FOLLOWING DAY, dressed in a navy silk chiffon dress, Jennifer rushed to the private banquet room in the restaurant hosting Marcie and Mark’s rehearsal dinner. With the rehearsal complete, the wedding party would arrive any minute, and she still needed to place the bride and groom’s gifts by the seating arrangement cards. She opened the double doors to the scent of lilacs, which adorned the center of the solid oak rectangular tables set in a U-shape. Removing the gifts from the bag on her shoulder, Jennifer rushed from seat to seat, carefully placing them in the proper locations.
She tried not to think about Bobby, who she hadn’t heard from all week. He’d left, Marcie had said, to return the night before the wedding, which was tonight.
Jennifer had willed herself to ask nothing more, and Marcie hadn’t volunteered any information. But Marcie knew something; Jennifer had seen it in her eyes. Ah—but Marcie and Bobby had years of secrets. All of which Jennifer had been excluded from. Nothing had changed. Nothing was ever going to change with Bobby.
She’d tried her hardest to tell herself she didn’t care. Which apparently required pulling extra hours at the clinic to avoid thinking herself insane, because she’d worked plenty of hours this past week.
Today though, she’d spent with helping Marcie and her mother, Sharon—who unlike Kate was tall with a short, blond spiky do—prepare for tonight and the wedding the next day.
Jennifer was halfway around the tables when she froze at the sight of a seating card with “Bobby Evans” on it.
“You didn’t expect me, I guess?”
His voice, oh, his voice. Why did Bobby’s voice have to be so deep and sexy? Why did it have to stroke her inside out and send chills down her spine?
She inhaled a discreet, relaxing breath and then lifted her gaze to his, noting the black suit and white shirt with a navy-blue tie that matched her dress. Either he’d asked Marcie what Jennifer was wearing or he’d taken a guess based on her love of that color. Either way, it wasn’t scoring him any points after days of silence. He did silence too damn well.