She tried to reconcile the Jamie who just got out of the truck—the one who sang with abandon and pretty much blew her mind—with the reserved guy who preferred hiding out on his own to mingling with their fellow graduates at last week’s reunion. She thought back to that night, to how much she’d wanted to, at the very least, make eye contact with him before she left with Spencer. But he was MIA until he came barging into his office.
Huh. Brynn saw it more clearly now compared to then, when she looked at Jamie with inebriated ire. He had barged, like he was in a rush or on some sort of mission. Did he have to start an emergency Oktoberfest batch? It was too late for that. Maybe he’d suddenly realized a color-coding error on his dry-erase calendar. That would have needed immediate attention. Whatever it was that had kept Jamie hidden before Brynn snuck off with Spencer had also sent him back to his office anxious and agitated, and she’d never asked him why.
Why, Jamie? Why, when she decided to take him up on his offer, had she thought the trip would be simple until they reached L.A.? Why, instead of relaxing in the comfort of being with someone she’d known for more than fifteen years, had she been surprised at every turn, wondering if she ever really knew the man she was with the way she thought she did?
She knew part of the answer lay in what happened ten years ago. She’d never admit it to Jamie, but she had held back, kept a safe distance since he put a crack in her vulnerable teenaged heart. At first the distance between them was fueled by anger—anger at him for making her feel what she didn’t even know was there and then squashing any sort of possibility with his own fear.
But Brynn knew fear, too—fear bigger than a six-hundred-thirty-foot arch—and she let that fear keep her from fighting for him when they were teens. She let it keep her safe for ten long years, reminding herself that if they ever crossed that boundary again, losing him a second time would hit her harder, that the damage to their friendship would be irreparable. They were kids then. When the heart was young and strong, it could bounce back from breaking. But she and Jamie were all grown up now. Wounds didn’t heal as quickly as they used to, and it had taken them four years to make their way back to normal last time. So Jamie sounding sexy singing his heart out in the truck could be nothing more.
She sighed at herself in the mirror—though all she could see was her blurry outline while her lenses soaked in their case—mustered up a small helping of that fear, and used it to bury any sort of delight she took in Jamie’s recent performance. They had less than two hours to go before Tulsa, their resting spot for the night after nearly eleven hours on the road, but her eyes were begging for relief now.
She unscrewed the lid labeled L and quickly deposited her contact back into her left eye. There. So much better. She was about to do the same with the right, but the knock on the door startled her, her hand jerking toward her face, and the contact toppling from her fingertip…into the too-clean sink and down the drain.
“B? You in there? I went back to the truck and didn’t see you…”
“SHIT!” she yelled. What was it with Jamie and his goddamn timing?
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Let me in, Brynn!”
Jamie’s voice was strained and insistent, dripping with worry. So Brynn unlocked the door, ready to drown his worry in venom.
He barreled into the bathroom, and she stumbled backward both with déjà vu and the dizziness associated with being extremely farsighted while wearing only one contact. Jamie caught her before her back hit the sink, and she threw her arms around him, holding herself up. For a moment they lingered like that, but she quickly remembered why she was dizzy in the first place.
“You!” she yelled, pushing herself from him and trying to focus with her good eye. “It’s always you!”
Brynn closed the eye without the lens and watched as Jamie looked from her to the sink and then back again. She’d left the contact solution on the corner of the sink, and he must have seen it, because recognition and guilt bloomed across his face.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. And then he started to laugh.
She swatted at his chest but missed, and he only laughed more.
She didn’t join him. In fact, she had to hold her breath to keep from bursting into tears. Jamie had to have seen it in her expression because his laughter ceased the second his eyes focused on hers—her opened eye, that is—again.
“Don’t even tell me,” he said, but Brynn nodded.
He figured out exactly what she just realized only moments before. When she rummaged through her bag for the contact solution, she became aware of the one necessity she forgot to pack—her glasses.
This wasn’t how the first day was supposed to end, not when there had been signs—the flat tire, conquering the Arch.
“Smooth sailing,” she insisted and realized the tears came anyway. “It was supposed to be smooth sailing from here on out.”
She sniffled and faltered in her footing again, this time burying her head in Jamie’s chest.
“I can’t wear just the one,” she sobbed. “I’m dizzy enough already. It’ll make me sick if I keep it in.”