that garbage a rest, Davis. How long have we been friends?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just answer the question.”
Brad thought back. “I don’t know. Twenty years. Maybe more.”
“Exactly. That’s pretty ‘long term,’ if you ask me.” His friend smirked. “How many meals have you eaten at our house? How many ugly pairs of socks has my mom knitted you for Christmas?”
A smile came to his lips. “A lot. I still have most of those socks stuffed in a drawer somewhere.”
“Bingo.”
Something akin to hope blossomed in his chest. Was Jason right? They’d been friends for most of their lives. Jason knew him almost as well as he knew himself.
Could he be right about Chloe?
His history with her went back just about as far. When he’d graduated from medical school, she’d been the one he’d come home to celebrate with. But that wasn’t all. The look of horror on her face the day he’d wrecked his bike had changed something inside him. His chest went tight as comprehension washed through him.
She saved you. Kept you from attempting anything else.
Memory after memory swirled through his head. Chloe in her wedding dress, blushing as she’d danced with him. On the back of his bike as they’d ridden to the hospital, her arms around his waist. Lying on a blanket in the park, her lips parting as she welcomed his kiss. Her gentle touch as she’d traced the lines of his tattoo. Gasping out his name as they’d made love.
He put the pieces of the puzzle together one by one. And the realization that came with it almost brought him to his knees.
He may not have learned how to love from his folks, but he had from his friends.
From Chloe.
He looked across the bar at Jason. “You’re right. I love her.”
“Now you’re talking”
“Let’s take you to get some X-rays. Then I’m going home.” When Jason’s brows drew together, he clarified. “Home to Connecticut.”
* * *
“Come out of there, you little bastard.”
Chloe wasn’t sure if she was talking to the weed in front of her or the persistent pain in her heart, but she grabbed the plant with two hands anyway and tugged. It still wouldn’t budge. With her headphones blaring a country tune in her ears, she grunted and repeated the act, only to have the plant slip from her grasp, sending her right onto her backside.
She swore again. Time to pull out the big guns. Reaching behind her, she felt for her gardening shovel. If she couldn’t pull the sucker out, she’d dig it up by the roots. Just like she was going to do with her wayward emotions. Her fingers closed over the handle of the shovel just as something shiny dropped onto the ground next to her hip.
She blinked, letting go of the shovel to push up the brim of her ball cap so she could see what it was.
It was a gold-colored key that looked like it came out of...
Her heart started tripping over itself as she turned and found a pair of boots standing behind her. Black leather. Attached was a familiar set of legs, narrow waist...leather motorcycle jacket.
“Brad.” His name came out as a whisper of sound, the music in her ears all but forgotten. Until his lips moved and she realized she couldn’t hear him.
He frowned, tilted his head and then squatted next to her, plucking one earbud from her ear and then the other. The music fell away.
Picking up the key, he reached for her hand then placed the object in her palm. She stared at it.
“I need your help opening something,” he said.
She pushed air across her vocal cords, but nothing came out. She licked her lips and tried again. “Opening what?”
He rolled his fingers into a fist and pressed it against the left side of his chest.
Surely he couldn’t mean...
“I don’t understand. You wanted me to leave. You all but screamed it.”
She noticed a dark smudge on the left side of his jaw.
“I know it seemed that way, Chloe, and I’m sorry. I had some stuff to work through.”
“About your father?”
“No. About you and me.” He touched the metal object in her palm. “I know I’ve done some stupid things and I’m not sure how to make them right. But no one else will ever hold that key. Only you. I’m asking you to use it.”
She had to know for sure. No more guessing. “Use it on what?”
“Me.”
Something in his voice made her take a closer look at him. “What happened to your face?”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “Would you believe that Cupid uses his fist nowadays instead of arrows?”
Cupid? Did that mean...?
As if he’d read her thoughts, he nodded. “I love you. I wasn’t convinced I had what it takes to make you happy. I’m hoping I’m wrong about that.”
Her fingers closed around the key. “You love me?”
“Yes.”
One word. So very simple. And yet she heard Brad’s heart and soul in it.
“I love you too.”
His hand slid to the back of her neck and drew her toward him, resting his forehead against hers. “God. I didn’t dare hope...”
She put her knees on the ground and twined her arms around his neck. “Neither did I.” She breathed in the musky scent of rich leather and all things Brad.
He leaned down and kissed her, the lightest touch, just like he’d done at the park. It didn’t stay that way for long, though. Soon it had grown and bloomed into something that couldn’t be contained.
When it ended, she was gasping for breath and wanting him to do it all over again. Instead, he stood up and held out his hand. “I asked you to take a victory lap with me once upon a time, and you refused. I’m hoping this time you’ll say yes.”
“Yes,” she breathed. Glancing at the curb, where his motorcycle stood waiting—her helmet resting on the seat—she started to stand up and then paused and held out the key to him. “Could you hold this for a second? I need to do one last thing.”
Turning back to the weed that she’d struggled to pull out, she wrapped her gloved hands around it one last time and pulled with all her might. She felt the root shift and then break free from whatever had been holding it back.
