Letting Go(101)

She just wanted to be at Chessy’s, where she could pour out her grief to someone who loved her. It felt as if the rug had been yanked from underneath her and she supposed it had. After a night when the future had seemed so utterly perfect, it was now a gaping, yawning black hole stretching as far as the eye could see.

She didn’t see the child dart into the street chasing a ball until it was too late. Horrified that she could hurt or kill the little girl, she yanked the steering wheel as hard as she could, not even having time to slam on the brakes.

She hit the curb hard enough to blow out her front tire, and as she looked up, she saw the sprawling oak tree dead ahead. There was nothing she could do. Her tiny convertible hit the tree with a sickening crunch of metal and the sharp sound of shattering glass. Her head slammed forward as the air bags exploded in her face. Pain registered and as she blinked, blood slid down her forehead, clouding her vision.

She wondered if she’d live just as she blacked out and floated away in a sea of nothingness.





TWENTY-NINE





DASH stared broodingly out his office window and replayed the morning’s events over and over. Had he overreacted? Part of him said yeah. The other part, the practical, unemotional part, said no, that he’d been right to be angry. And certainly he had no right to lash out at her like that, to hurt her so badly.

But damn it, enough was enough. What should have been the best night of his entire life, the culmination of an impossible dream, had ended in his worst nightmare. Maybe it had always been an impossibility. Perhaps Joss wasn’t ready—would never be ready—to let go.

So where did that leave him? A week ago he would have vowed that he would be satisfied with any part of her. That he would wait, be patient for her to come around and hope that eventually she would be in a place where she could give him back in full measure what he was willing to give her.

But when she’d told him she loved him, and then wept for her husband the morning after, he’d been seized by a fatalistic sensation that she would never truly be his. His hopes had been crushed in that one instant, and he’d reacted much like a wounded animal. Hell, he was wounded. The kind of wound one never recovered from.

His office door burst open and he turned, irritated over the interruption. To his surprise Tate strode inside, his expression angry.

“What the hell did you do to Joss?” Tate demanded.

Dash sighed. “That didn’t take long.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Chessy is worried out of her mind. Where is Joss? What happened between the two of you?”

Dash’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about? Why are you asking me where she is?”

“Because apparently you were the last person who saw her,” Tate said through gritted teeth. “She called Chessy in hysterics over two hours ago. She was upset and crying but she wouldn’t tell Chessy what was wrong. She asked Chessy if she could come over, that she needed her, and that she would be there in half an hour. She didn’t show and Chessy can’t get an answer on her cell number, her home number or your home number for that matter. She sent me to drag your ass out of your cave since you aren’t answering your cell either.”

Dash paled, dread gripping his insides. “I don’t know where she is. She was at my house . . . in my bed when I left.” He winced, closing his eyes. “Or at least she was in my bed, but she would have left.”

“And why would she have left?” Tate growled.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Dash said icily.

“The hell it’s not! Chessy is home worried sick about her. Hell, the only way I could get her to stay her ass at home and not run out to look for her is by promising to find her myself. Joss is not the hysterical or irresponsible type, so if she was that upset and she’s missing, then something is damn well wrong.”

The knot grew larger in Dash’s throat. Panic slid down his spine, momentarily paralyzing him.

“I said some pretty terrible things to her,” Dash murmured. “Jesus. When I left, she was crying.”

“You left her that upset?” Tate asked in a disgusted voice.

Dash closed his eyes. “I was pretty pissed.”

“I’m not even going to ask because the only thing I give a fuck about is my wife worrying herself sick over Joss and whether Joss herself is all right. I take it you haven’t heard from her.”

Dash shook his head. “She pretty much told me to go to hell. But I’m already there. I have been for years.”

Tate’s phone rang and he snatched it up. “Chessy?” he said. “Is she okay? Did you hear from her?”