Brynn had said in Amarillo that he’d broken her heart that summer, that she would have chosen him then, but he rationalized it was the heightened emotion of their newlywed kiss—and the heightened everything that happened afterward. She couldn’t have fallen in love with him from one kiss when they were seventeen.
Then again, he fell in love with her without their lips ever touching. Kissing her that night was everything, but that’s not what made him fall in love or what kept him in love with her for ten years, even if he wouldn’t admit it. It was all the other stuff that made Brynn Brynn—her ridiculous love of the Monkees; her hair in that crazy bun she’d only wear in front of Holly or him; the way she felt everything so deeply it radiated into her movement, sometimes so much that she stabbed a guy with a letter opener or poked him in the eye. It was her fear of heights and her spur-of-the-moment determination to face it. She was everything that made him fall in love. But she was also the nail in the coffin of his fear. Loving her was terrifying. The thought of losing her damn near paralyzed him. Now he let fear take the wheel again, steering Brynn back to a guy who’d be happy to swoop in and clean up the mess that Jamie kept making.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” he said, and Mickey the mechanic and knitting lady both uttered a “What?” in unison. But Jamie waved them off and signed the credit card receipt.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Annie said, her words dripping with exhaustion.
“I gotta go. And I need to do this right. Don’t call her. Or Holly. It needs to be me and only me.” Maybe she was right about how Brynn felt. Maybe she wasn’t. Either way, Jamie knew how he felt. Brynn was his best friend, and he never wanted to lose that. But he also wanted more. He needed more, and he could either let his fear keep pushing her away or he could get the hell out of Holbrook and show Brynn that he’s the right guy, one she can trust, but who’s just had some shit timing.
“My lips are sealed, James. Go get her.”
Jamie trusted Jeremy to take care of things in L.A. today. Sure, if anything went wrong, he’d lose his spot at the fest. But he would survive that.
He couldn’t survive losing Brynn.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Turkey jerky and Twizzlers wasn’t exactly the breakfast of champions—or lunch, for that matter—but it was slim pickings at the gas station. Brynn lucked out with a row of seats to herself, the Holbrook to Los Angeles shuttle apparently not a popular route for a Friday. This meant if she fell asleep, the only shoulder she’d drool on would be that of her suitcase perched on the seat next to her.
She’d tried texting Holly to tell her how this morning had panned out, but either the bus or whatever new town they’d entered or the combination of the two was messing with her cell service, and three texting attempts had failed. It was probably for the best since her head was beginning to ache. She was confident it was no worse than last night immediately following the injury, but she could use an ibuprofen or three right about now.
She rummaged through her purse, which might as well have been that magic satchel Mary Poppins carried, because she produced everything from emergency tampons to a romance novel she was reading but couldn’t find the small tube of pain relief pills. It was entirely possible that in her packing haste she’d put it somewhere else. Good thing she didn’t let the driver take her bag, because the pills must be buried somewhere in it.
She let the towel rack off the hook and blamed Jamie for the headache. Fine. Maybe she blamed herself a little, too. She could have fought him on this, on the whole sending her off to L.A. thing. But the truth was, as much as she was sure she loved him, she didn’t know how to convince him. Or trust him not to lie again. This seemed to be their thing. They were friends. They crossed the line. Jamie pushed her away, and she let him.
She blew out a long breath. The whole situation exhausted her and made her head pound more. Brynn unzipped the large front pocket of her suitcase to rummage for the pills, but when she opened the compartment, a bulging plastic bag popped out. She took in a hitching breath.
The lucky bouquet.
“Dammit, Jamie!”
The woman across the aisle glanced her way, eyebrows raised. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but if he couldn’t hear her, then the other seven passengers headed to Los Angeles should.