Page 145 of A Stop in Time
I remove the battery from the vehicle with a grunt. “What are you even good for?”
With a chuckle, he heads inside to torment Annalee. By now, he knows that I’m just giving him shit.
Steve’s a good guy—and I sure as hell never thought I’d say that about one of Bronson Cortez’s men. Then again, Daniel was pretty incredible.
Even now, just thinking of him, the pain is still so fresh, like a wound that just won’t heal.
Do I regret the things I did under Dr. Pinney’s treatment? Of course. But it’s also hard to regret something that brought Daniel into my life.
God, a person can go crazy going down the rabbit holes of life’s what-ifs. The truth is, every single action and word acts like a domino, setting things into motion and sending us down a certain path. If I regret it all, then that means I regret him.
And I don’t. I’m not sure I ever could.
I haven’t had the courage to ask Steve if Daniel ever mentions me or asks about me. If there’s a chance he’ll ever forgive me for what I did.
Even though I’ve forgiven myself, even though I doubt there’s any chance for Daniel and me, the thought of another man touching me makes me violently ill. Maybe, one day, I’ll eventually get over him and my heart won’t constantly feel as if it’s been annihilated.
I tug open a tool chest drawer, searching for the correct size wrench, when the side door opens.
“Hey, Mac?” Annalee calls out. “I’ve got a guy who’s lookin’ for a rim for a Chevelle.”
My breath suspends in my chest, and I brace a hand on the tool chest. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t get your hopes up.
Without turning around, I attempt to school my tone and casually call out, “What year?”
When Annalee doesn’t answer, my shoulders slump, only to turn rigid when a man’s husky voice says, “’77.”
68
DANIEL
Her entire body locked tight, she doesn’t move a muscle, keeping her back to me as she stands by the tool chest.
“A ’77, huh?” Slowly, she turns to face me, and an electrifying jolt races through me at the sight of her.
She’s so goddamn beautiful. Even more now. It’s like she’s managed to evict some invisible weight off her shoulders and seems lighter. Happier, even.
Fuck. Maybe I’m ruining everything by showing up here, but I needed to see her. Uncertainty has cracked my usually impenetrable confidence, turning my muscles painfully rigid.
Her gaze darts past me to my Chevelle that’s now in pristine condition, no longer dented from bullets.
“Your car’s looking a whole hell of a lot better.” Her tone might be nonchalant, but the quiver in her voice tells me she’s not as calm and indifferent as she wants me to believe.
Sharp blue eyes inspect me critically, her expression guarded, her words terse. “You here for another round of mediocre sex?”
“Uh…” Annalee’s discomfort is evident in how she stumbles over her words. “I, um, I guess I’ll leave y’all to your conversation.” The side door closes with a hurried click.
“No.” A trace of surprise flashes in her expression at my immediate answer. “I’m here for you.”
I rush on, so goddamn fearful she’ll shut me down if I don’t. “It took me time to get my head straight, and I know there’s a good chance I’m too late. And I’ll respect that.”
Agony climbs up my throat, making it painful to get the words out. “I’m not gonna say it won’t gut me, ’cause it will. But I’ll respect what you want.”
Christ Almighty. I’ve pointed guns straight at dangerous motherfuckers’ heads and didn’t feel anything close to this. My damn stomach twists, and I swear there’s a chance I might puke right at her feet, but I’ve got to say my piece.
“But if there’s even a chance that we could be together, I’ll take it. I—”
“What do you see?” she suddenly interrupts, her tone guarded. “When you look at me, what do you see?”