When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,76

burned between them was singular. Powerful.

I had that with River, and I wanted it back.

So do something about it.

James was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the side of the car. He raised a brow as I approached. “That was fast.”

“I was concerned about the sturdiness of a certain table, but my friends are testing its durability as we speak.”

He nodded, unfazed. “Home then, sir?”

“No, downtown. The bookstore,” I said, only a vague idea swimming in my head. “To reference your skiing analogy, I’m going to crash one way or another, James. Might as well try to make it a hell of a ride first.”

He smiled. “Very good, sir.”

Downtown, I went back to the bookstore where I’d bought River the book on car restoration. Another book felt a little redundant, but there was so much more to him than anyone knew beneath his football letterman jacket and casual smile. He’d seen me at my worst and stayed. The least I could do was let him know I saw him as he was, too. That he wasn’t alone.

I scanned the fiction shelves and my gaze snagged on a title.

“Perfect.”

I made my purchase and had James drive me back to River’s house where I sat in the backseat, unmoving, the book clutched in my sweaty hands.

“Sir?”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Because… What if he’s not home and someone else answers?”

James frowned in the rearview. He started to speak but I cut him off.

“No, you’re right. Fuck that. It’s not a crime against humanity to drop off a book to a friend. Thank you for the pep talk, James.”

“Anytime, sir.”

I walked up the Whitmore’s front walk and knocked on the door. A young girl around fourteen or fifteen, with the same blue eyes and dark hair as River, answered. She gave me a curious glance, taking in my heavy coat despite the warm-ish afternoon.

“Can I help you?”

“Is River here?”

“He’s at our shop. Whitmore Auto Body? He works there most afternoons now. Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of his from school.”

“What’s your name?” she said, practically demanded, curiosity flowing off of her in waves.

“Holden. A friend from school. And you are…?”

“His sister, Amelia.”

“A pleasure.” I held up my bookstore purchase. “I’m returning his book.”

“It looks brand new.”

“I meant, replacing it. River lent me his copy and I spilled…gravy on it.” I inwardly cringed. Gravy? Lord, man. “Anyway, could I just leave this with you?”

“You could,” Amelia said thoughtfully. “Or you could just drop it by the shop.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Amelia leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “I think it’s a very good idea. In fact, I think River could really use a visit from you, Holden. It’s not far, just off Charleston Street, south end of downtown.”

“Right, but—”

“It was nice meeting you,” Amelia said with a strange smile, and then she shut the door, leaving me stranded on the doorstep.

“So that happened.”

I turned and headed back to the car, debating the wisdom of visiting River at his family’s shop. In public. In broad daylight.

Then I envisioned him stripped down to jeans and a sleeveless undershirt, his oiled muscles smudged with grease while he bent over something dirty and mechanical.

“On the other hand…”

I gave James our new destination and had him park around back. I slipped through an alley to the side of the garage, making sure no customers could see me. A window along the shop’s rear wall showed me a small, cramped office.

My fantasy was partially fulfilled: River wasn’t bent over a car but some paperwork, wearing a dark blue, short-sleeved uniform shirt with his name lettered in red on a white patch. Sweat and grease left a sheen on his arms, and he’d smudged himself on the edge of one sharp cheekbone.

My heart jackhammering in my chest, I tapped on the glass.

As he had at school, River’s face lit up to see me and then morphed into wide-eyed fear. He shut his books and disappeared from the room. A few moments later, he came around the side, wiping his hands on a rag.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“If that’s your standard greeting, your customer service needs work.”

“I’m not fucking around, Holden. Why are you here?”

“Your sister said I could find you here so—”

His eyes bulged. “You talked to my sister?”

“Sure did,” I bit out, his reaction hurting and hardening my heart. “I knocked on your door and said, ‘Hello, Amelia, my name is Holden. I gave your brother a blowjob awhile back and I’m