GOD, SHE WANTED—desperately—to leave him to figure out how to get out of the cold night by himself.
But she couldn’t do it. A heavy weight had settled right in the center of her chest, a ball of emotion and tears and hope and devastation.
Walking away should have made it better. Embracing the anger flickering through her should have given her the strength she needed to protect herself from getting hurt—again.
But less than three paces away from him, instead of relief flooding in, the pain and pressure had become worse.
Evan had lied to her. Or he’d let the government lie to her, let her believe he was dead. She didn’t owe him a damn thing.
The Evan she knew was ruthless and resourceful. If he’d wanted to get in touch with her he would have.
Which should have made her angrier. Not sad.
The sob she’d been holding at bay clawed at the back of her throat. No. She wasn’t letting it out.
Opening the driver’s side door of her Mustang, she tipped the seat forward and shoved her bags into the backseat. Willow would kill her if she saw her crumpling the dress bag this way, but she didn’t have the energy to worry about her friend’s indignation.
Turning, she bent to slip inside, intent on pulling the door closed.
She would not look back at him. She would not look back at him.
The words rang through her head like a litany, but apparently her brain wasn’t keen on actually following the instruction because her rebellious gaze strayed straight back to him.
Oh, Jesus.
And she almost doubled over at the pain lancing through her, an echo of the reaction she’d had when they’d told her he was dead. Why did learning he was alive hurt just as much?
Even across the space of the parking lot, she could feel the heat of his gaze as he watched her. The familiar tingle that blasted across her skin. The physical reaction only he had ever been able to coax from her body.
Damn the man.
His body was strung tight, arms heavy with muscle crossed over his wide chest as his dark gaze probed her. To anyone else who cared to look, he appeared relaxed, but she knew better. She could read the tension whipping through him.
Evan hadn’t followed her, but she knew, instinctively, he wasn’t giving up. Once her husband set his mind to something, he was relentless. Always had been, always would be.
Those qualities had served him well in his work for Special Ops. Once he took on a responsibility, he wouldn’t back down or buckle under until the job was done.
It was always something she’d admired...until that dedication had killed him. Or, at least, she’d thought it had.
Her brain was scrambled. Her emotions bounced all over the place. She’d already been exhausted from a full few days of running Petals, arranging the flowers for the wedding and attending all the wedding activities before this mess had landed in her lap.
What she really wanted to do was go home, climb into a steaming tub of fragrant water and soak away all her cares.
But Evan had come here for a reason and she knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t leave until he’d accomplished whatever he’d set out to do.
The longer she dragged this out the harder it would be. A part of her wanted to thwart him simply to make him suffer. The rest of her realized that would be heaping punishment on her own head right along with his.
She was happy in Sweetheart. It had taken her months to find the equilibrium she’d lost. All she wanted was to return to the predictable, safe and easy life she’d built here.
Evan showing up threatened that stability. The sooner he left, the sooner her life could return to normal.
Besides, as much as she wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, she needed answers. Maybe with closure, she’d finally be able to move on and find the happiness her friends had all discovered in the last few months.
Tatum realized she’d been staring at him for several minutes, half in and half out of her gaping car door. Long enough for delicate snowflakes to melt into her hair, dampening the ends. A chill seeped under her warm coat, although she wasn’t sure it actually had anything to do with the weather.
The thought of letting Evan back into any part of her life sent panic skittering across her skin.
But she didn’t have a better option.
Gripping the top of the door, she called, “Follow me,” across the empty night before she could change her mind.
He didn’t answer, although she really didn’t give him a chance, slamming the door shut between them. Not that the empty symbolic gesture would save her.
He either followed or he didn’t. Now the choice was his.
* * *
EVAN DROVE BEHIND the sleek, growling, piece of American machinery. It didn’t surprise him to see that Tatum owned a vintage Mustang. That was his girl, always appreciative of the power and precision of a well-made car.
There had been a time, in their younger years, when she’d have opened it up, letting the car eat asphalt. They’d both loved the adrenaline rush of going fast. It was something they shared.
Whether it was the unpredictable weather and slick roads or something else, he wasn’t sure, but tonight Tatum kept the car at a respectable pace as she led him through town, down a quaint little Main Street lined with shops and boutiques and into a neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses.
The entire town looked like a gingerbread house had thrown up all over it. Everywhere he looked, there were candy canes and blinking lights, wreaths and evergreen garlands strung with glittering tinsel.
It was idyllic. The kind of place that should be the setting for a made-for-TV movie about the magic of Christmas. The whole place made the spot right between his shoulder blades itch.
He wondered how Tatum felt about the obvious, in-your-face peace on earth and goodwill toward men theme Sweetheart had going.
This time of year had always been difficult for her. A reminder of everything that had gone wrong and all she’d lost. When they had been together, Evan had always gone out of his way to keep a smile on her face from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Leaving little notes and surprise gifts. Nothing fancy or expensive. Trinkets. Toys. Whatever would lighten her heart just a bit.
He wondered who was helping her keep the grief and guilt that she struggled with at bay.
Tatum turned into a driveway halfway down the street. The door for the garage rose and she maneuvered the Mustang inside. Without stopping to think about it, Evan pulled into the space beside her, which was mostly empty except for a row of plastic bins, a ladder and a mountain bike with a helmet hanging from one handlebar.
Kicking out the stand, he let the weight of his Harley settle beneath him as the engine went silent. Behind him, the garage door whirred shut, plunging them into a murky darkness that was alleviated only by the diffuse light of a single bulb above them.
Tatum sat in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared straight at the back wall of the garage. For a brief moment, he thought about walking around and pulling her out, but decided it was better to let her set the pace of this conversation.
It was going to be difficult enough.
Evan watched her shoulders rise and fall on a single, deep breath. Her eyes slid shut and the muscles along her shoulders tightened.
He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and promise her everything would be okay.