Brea sucked in a shaky breath. “Stop.”
“What, trying to show you the options Cutter told you to ignore?”
Finally, she whipped an annoyed glare his way. “He doesn’t tell me what to think.”
“Good. You’re smart enough to make up your own mind.” He cocked his head. “Let me ask you a question.”
“I’ve said no in every polite way possible, and we’re done with this conversation, do you hear me?”
He did, but she wasn’t listening to him, either. “Are you afraid of losing your boyfriend? Or worried you’ll figure out he isn’t flipping your switch and I can?”
“I’m not dignifying that question with an answer. Goodbye, Mr. Walker.”
When she tried to walk around him, he planted himself in front of her again. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go.”
She flashed him a surprisingly fierce expression. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“You don’t owe me anything. But you owe it to yourself to be honest.”
Then, because he couldn’t stay in her way without pissing her off, One-Mile stepped aside, leaving her a straight path to her car. He’d rather stay and talk, even with the stifling midday sun beating down and the beads of sweat rolling down his back. But he’d given Brea food for thought. Hopefully, she’d thoroughly chew on it until he found another opportunity to talk to her.
She flashed him a wary glance, then made a beeline for her compact. As soon as she reached the door and gave the handle a tug, her phone rang, its chime clanging like church bells. She ripped into her purse for the device as she settled into the passenger’s seat. “Hi, Daddy.”
Her father. The preacher. Her only parent. Besides Cutter Bryant, he might be a major stumbling block…
“What?” Brea breathed in shock. “Oh, my gosh. How long ago? Where are they taking him?”
One-Mile’s radar went off. Something was wrong.
“University. Yes, I-I know where that is. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Did the paramedics say anything else?”
Shit. Had someone called an ambulance for her father?
“Okay. Th-thank you for letting me know.” Brea turned and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears leaked from their corners. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
She ended the call, visibly shaking as she tried to shove her phone back in her purse and set it in the passenger’s seat. The thin strap snagged on the lace trim at her shoulder. When she nudged, the leather stubbornly resisted. Finally, she ignored the bag altogether and tried—twice—to insert her key in the ignition. But her fingers shook. Her keys jingled. She huffed in frustration.
One-Mile hated seeing her rattled.
He knelt in the open car door. “Hey. What’s going on? I can help.”
She looked a split second from bawling. “My d-dad collapsed at the church shortly after I left. Th-they think it’s his heart. I have to go.”
Third time was the charm because she finally managed to stick the key into the ignition, but her purse strap was still stuck. She grabbed at it with impatient fingers and yanked. The strap finally flopped off her shoulder but clung to the crook of her elbow. The bag itself fell to the passenger floorboard, dragging her forearm with it. The more she struggled, the more she looked ready to scream.
Touching her now was risky, but he’d rather she tell him to fuck off forever than have an accident in the twenty minutes it would take her to reach the hospital.
“Brea.” He wrapped his hand around her fingers, still clutching the keys, and gave them a squeeze. “You’re in no shape to drive. Let me take you.”
She opened her mouth, an automatic refusal seemingly perched there. Instead, she pressed her lips together again. “You’re right.”
Relieved that she’d acquiesced, he helped her from the car, reaching in after her to retrieve her purse. He took the keys from her grasp, locked the compact, and guided her to his Jeep.
Once he had her buckled in and they were heading down the road, he slipped into problem-solving mode. “Has your father had any problems with his heart in the past?”
“No.” And she looked completely stunned by the fact he was dealing with it now. “He’s had high blood pressure for a few years, but he’s controlled it with medication. I’ve tried to keep him on a heart-healthy diet, but he loves fried chicken and beignets and…” She shook her head as tears started streaming down her face. “The doctor told him his weight has been creeping up for a while, and he’s more sedentary than he should be. I’ve encouraged him to walk with me or try one of my spin classes. Something. But lately he’s been so busy and preoccupied. I thought it would pass. I should have insisted.”
“You can’t blame yourself. He’s a grown-ass man, and you’ve gone above and beyond.”
“No.” She closed her eyes as guilty fear closed up her expression. “I do the grocery shopping, and I’ve indulged him more than I should, telling myself that once the summer cookouts were over and pieces of peach pie weren’t so easy to come by that I’d make sure he ate healthier. But what if it’s too late?”
One-Mile both understood and hated how much she worried, but her ability to love with her whole heart was obvious. Her body pinged with anxious devotion. The way she willed herself to be at her father’s side this instant confirmed it.
He’d never had anyone love him like that. And he wanted it.
One hand gripped the wheel. The other he curled around hers. He was surprised—and thrilled as hell—when she grabbed his in return and squeezed.
“Wait and see what the doctors say.”
She turned to him with big doe eyes that melted him. “I’m afraid.”
“I know. But I’m here, whatever you need.”
More tears fell down her cheeks. “He’s all I’ve got. My mother died shortly after I was born.”
“I read that last night. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know how any woman died in this day and age as a result of childbirth, and he wished like hell
