Fuck man, I still have no idea what happened that day. The roads were dry and clear, and Ethan was the best driver I knew. Reports came back that there was nothing wrong with the car, and the single vehicle accident was driver error. Here it is a year later, and I’m still having a hard time wrapping my brain around one of the world’s best NASCAR drivers crashing through a guardrail.
“Jamie?”
I blink and realize Fallon had been talking to me. Dammit. I need to stop spacing out. Once again, I had one too many beers tonight, a habit I’ve fallen into when I’m home alone, haunted by memories. I can still picture Sara glaring at me with angry eyes, telling me it was all my fault. A guy doesn’t move past that easily, or ever.
“Sorry, what?”
Her brow furrows and her look is one of pity that I fucking hate. I’m a horrible person, a complete fuck up, and I don’t deserve compassion or sympathy from anyone, least of all Fallon. By rights she should hate me. She should kick me in the nuts and call me every vile name known to mankind. But no, sweet Fallon isn’t at all like that. My sister-in-law is the kindest woman I know and always put others above herself. I knew that from the second my brother and I laid eyes on her at her girlfriend’s party all those years ago. Hell, back in the day, if Ethan hadn’t put a ring on her finger, maybe things would have been different between us.
Or maybe not, since I was on the road so much, making a name for myself in the NHL. While I was away working my ass off in the rink, he swooped in and made her his girl. Eventually I met Sara. A nice girl and one of the team’s physical therapists. She got pregnant, despite the fact that I always used protection, but sometimes things happen. Condoms aren’t one-hundred percent effective. Obviously. At the time, all my friends were getting married, and having kids, and when she showed me the pregnancy stick, I knew it was time for me to grow up too, and do the right thing.
“I was just wondering if you’d like a drink,” she says pulling my thoughts back once again.
“Yeah, sure,” I say and as I gaze at her, take in her strength and her vulnerability, my heart hitches. Truthfully, I would do anything for her, and goddammit, I should have had the place cleaned and stocked for her and Chase. Once again, I let down those who counted on me. It’s no wonder Fallon ran away from here so fast after the funerals. I guess she knew better than to turn to me.
“I don’t have any beer, but I have some soda. Would you like one?”
“I think I’m done with drinking tonight anyway,” I say. Maybe forever. I glance at the young boy at the table. While my risk-taking days are behind me, and I’m never going to be what these two need—I can’t let anyone get too close, can’t let anyone rely on me—I should at least be sober around him. Ethan would want that.
“Would you keep an eye on Chase for a second? I’ll grab them from the SUV.”
I hold my hand out. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring all your stuff in.”
“There isn’t much.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her keys. “We only have our clothes.”
“Yeah, you didn’t take much of anything when you left,” I say and close my hand around the palm tree keychain that says Margaritaville—a souvenir she’d picked up on her honeymoon in Jamaica. I make my way to the front door and the warm night air washes over me. The sight of the SUV in the driveway is like a kick in the nuts. I was with them when they bought it. Checked out the back seat with my nephew.
I open the back hatch and pull out their things as well as a paper grocery bag with soda and chips. Was this supposed to be her dinner? Guess she’s been eating about as well as I have. I gather up what little belongings she has and carry everything inside. I step into the kitchen and find Fallon staring off in to space.
“I’ll take these upstairs,” I say. I pause. “Um…” I begin not sure how to ask, but she comes to my rescue because she’s a smart girl who is good at reading people and situations.
“I think I’m going to sleep in the spare room.”
I nod, figuring as much.
“Chase okay in his room?”
“Yes, I think he’ll like crawling back into his race car bed.”
I glance at the boy who is the spitting image of his father. I focus back in on Fallon and lower my voice. “Does he…remember?”
“A little bit,” she says and pulls the soda from the bag. I turn and go upstairs. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place for some time now, so this isn’t my first trip to the bedrooms after Fallon left. Still, seeing the open closet, with Ethan’s clothes hanging, a shelf with all his favorite ball caps, hits like a punch every single time.
Since Fallon didn’t say which spare room, I drop her bag into the one across the hall from Chase’s, and set his stuff on the floor of his room, near the foot of his hot rod race car bed, similar to the one his daddy drove.
I take a fueling breath and head back downstairs. My cell pings and I pull it from my back pocket to read a text from Rider. He and Kane are shooting a game of pool at the Freeman’s bar. They’ve both been keeping a close eye on me over the last year—Heck, all the guys and their wives have been—and while I’d normally join them, go home with a puck bunny, tonight I’m not in the mood. I swipe my finger over the phone and send a text.
Jamie: Fallon is back. I’m with her and Chase at her house.
Rider: Fallon Adams? Your sister-in-law?
Jamie: Do you know any other Fallon who has a son named Chase?
Rider: You okay, buddy?
Jamie: As well as could be expected.
Rider: Wants some company. Kane and I can come over.