With a screech of the ambulance’s tires, he roared away from the accident scene. “You can’t tell me you’re overjoyed to see Cher after she snuck out of town in the middle of the night.”
“She left on the 6 a.m. bus.” Elliott stroked his jaw. “If I remember right, you were too hungover to come with us to the station.”
El’s memory was spot-on. Derrick recalled graduation night with more than a touch of shame. He’d seriously fumbled Cher’s drunken pass. After she ran out of the high school cafeteria crying, he’d downed half a six-pack trying to blot her hurt expression from his memory. When five o’clock rolled around the next morning, he’d been in no shape to go anywhere near the bus depot, even if he’d wanted to. Which he hadn’t. It would have killed him to watch her leave, knowing she had no plans to return. “She wouldn’t have wanted to see me, anyway.”
“Think so, huh?” Elliott rolled his eyes. “You can’t really be that clueless.”
“Come on, El.” Derrick slapped his palm against the steering wheel. “Cher hasn’t bothered to keep in touch for a decade. She obviously could care less about us.”
His friend's gaze remained fixed on the barren cornfields flashing past the windows.
“You saying she’s been in contact with you?” Derrick asked.
Elliott’s cheeks reddened. “Infrequent e-mails over the years, but we’ve been in touch more often since Carrie and I got engaged.”
“And you never bothered to tell me?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t think you cared.”
That was the problem. He cared too much. Cher Stanton was the one girl he’d always regretted letting get away, and now that she was back …
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying to choke off thoughts of finishing what Cher had attempted to start all those years ago. Not acting on impulse might have earned him points with the man upstairs, but Cher had been less than impressed with his self-control.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish