“I already decided that I am staying in Deep Haven. No more treasure hunting for me—I found my treasure right here.” He cupped his hand to her cheek. “I think I’m in love with you, Raina.”
She tore her hand away, choking back a sob. Then she pushed past him and headed toward the door.
“Raina!”
“I’m not in love with you, Casper!”
There, she said it, and she didn’t slow as the words emptied out of her. Just ran past the tables toward the exit.
“Raina!”
No, no, no! But her eyes were blurry and she couldn’t see where she was going and—“I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.”
Arms caught her. “Sorry for what, baby?”
She looked up and, with a cry, pushed herself away.
Owen seemed almost the spitting image of Casper, with his dark pants, jean jacket, his blond hair windblown. He looked past her to Casper, concern on his face. “What’s going on here? You okay? My brother giving you trouble?”
“Stay away from me, Owen,” she said softly.
“Whoa. I guess you’re still sore at me.”
She wanted to slap him. Instead, she cast a desperate look at Casper.
Casper stared at his brother, stricken. “Raina?”
She had the surreal sense of her world shattering, right there in the middle of the twinkle-lit dance floor.
With a sob, she pushed past Owen, out into the night.
She had no illusions; she’d finally managed to cut Casper out of her life.
Please, Lord, let me not be too late.
The desperation in Max’s prayer made him lean forward into his steering wheel, look heavenward.
He hadn’t talked to God much in the past ten years, not wanting to bother God too much before he really needed Him, but . . . today, right now, he needed the Almighty to look his direction. To care. To stop Brendon from doing something stupid.
His headlights cut a swath over the dark, twisted highway of northern Wisconsin, illuminating shaggy evergreen, the forest thick with birch, oak, and poplar.
He’d already nearly hit two deer, and now his gaze darted from one side of the road to the other. He glanced at his cell phone, then back to the road, wishing he could pick it up, call again.
But his phone had died an hour ago, and in his rush to leave, he’d forgotten his charger on the counter.
At least he’d called Jace, left a message, cryptic though it was. Jace, I think my brother’s in trouble. Tell Grace I’m sorry.
Coward that he was, he couldn’t face her.
“Brendon’s missing.” The two words spoken by Lizzy, her voice trembling, had cut off every word he’d wanted to say to Grace.
Every apology, every stupid admission of emotion—all gone. What was he doing, declaring his love for her, telling her he wanted a future with her? He could bang his head on the steering wheel with the memory of it, the stupidity of his actions.
His conversation with her hadn’t in the least gone the direction he’d planned. He’d wanted to sit her down on the rock wall and tell her the truth. I sabotaged our contest.
He imagined her expression, raw, hurt, the question emanating from her: Why?
He forced himself to see the rest. The part where he told her about his disease, his fear of leaving someone behind, of . . .
Of watching her walk away.
Instead, he’d skipped over the essentials of that conversation to the happy ending. The part where he held her in his arms, kissed her—no, inhaled her—pulling her to himself until he felt whole and loved and healed.
He should be grateful for Lizzy’s call, the reminder in two words of exactly why he needed to walk away.
He kept dancing around the truth, like a moth around a flame, when he should have listened to his head instead of his heart.
But Brendon was different. He had a wife. A child.
A brother who needed him.
Max hit the brakes, slowing as he passed through the tiny resort town on the edge of Diamond Lake. This late at night he didn’t expect to see lights on, and he rolled by the darkened gas station, the library, the coffee hut, the bait and tackle shop, the long, low motel flickering a Vacancy light in neon red.
Impatience swilled through his veins as he accelerated back onto the highway toward the family cabin.
Please—
He’d called Lizzy the moment he got back to his apartment and found out that she’d come home to a note on the counter. Gone fishing. Lizzy might have believed him except for the prognosis Brendon received from the doctor last week. The one that showed his disease progressing faster than average, as if catching up to Brendon after its years of leniency.
“His cognitive test showed a severe decrease in his memory, and the psychomotor test, where they combine memory and writing, was twice as bad. It’s coming on, and fast.” The tremble at the end of her voice told Max the truth.