Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

She’s wearing my shirt, I notice with a small smile. A warmth settles in my chest at the thought of her scent on it.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, kissing her tears on one cheek, then the other. “Miles is my brother. He’s got a drinking problem. I thought he was doing better, but…” I trail off. There’s so much to explain, and this is not how I imagined explaining it. “I didn’t even know he was in town.”

She inhales a shaky breath. “It was… I was…” She tries to speak between jagged gasps, but the tears well up in her eyes once again.

I kneel and pull her into my chest, stroking her hair. “Don’t. You don’t need to explain. Not now. Just breathe.” I’m gutted I wasn’t here to protect her. My heart wrenches when I think about the panic that Miles’ sudden appearance clearly caused. I know he’s harmless. But she doesn’t.

I pull back and kiss the bridge of her nose, promising to be back quickly with a glass of water.

When I return, she’s lying down on the bed, still wrapped in my blanket, curled up on her side and turned away from me. I place the glass on the bedside table and kick off my boots, then climb in behind her, wrapping my arm over her and pulling her into me. We lie there for a few minutes in silence, and I breathe in the sweet smell of her hair, flashes of our night together coming to mind unbidden.

Now’s not the time, I remind myself. There’s a serious problem still waiting for me on the porch.

“I’m gonna have to go deal with him.” I whisper into her ear, nosing her hair out of the way. She smells amazing and I don’t want to leave her. Fucking Miles and his fucking timing.

She says nothing but gives me a small nod. I kiss the back of her head, wishing this morning had gone much differently. It takes all my willpower to extract myself from her.

Shoving my boots back on, I storm outside to confront Miles, pausing when I notice he’s now passed out, sitting up, on the porch bench.

Cursing under my breath, I leave him and return to the truck. I let Murphy out. He stretches awake and hops down out of the cab, lumbering toward the front porch to his next napping location, familiar enough with Miles to have been unperturbed by the commotion he made earlier. Pulling the bag of groceries off the front seat, I return to the kitchen and pull out the paper bag of chocolate croissants I bought to share with Olena. I put one on a plate and flick the switch on the coffee maker with agitation, before taking the croissant back to my bedroom for her.

I stop short in the doorway, plate in hand. My flannel shirt is laying on the bed and she’s buttoning her own shirt, having apparently located her clothes somewhere in the chaos. My eyes land briefly on her bra and the curve of her breast. God, she’s beautiful.

“Olena?” I ask carefully. She doesn’t meet my gaze, just stuffs her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and sniffs, wiping at her eyes with her other hand.

“I need to go.” Her eyes are still on the floor, looking for more of her belongings, no doubt.

I step back silently as she hurries into the hallway, then comes back into the room. She finds one sock, then the other, and slips them on her feet, stumbling awkwardly in her hurry to leave.

“Are you sure? I have breakfast. And coffee’s brewing.” The words feel trite as they come out, as if breakfast is enough to repair what’s just happened to her.

Don’t leave, I silently beg. But I can’t ask her to stay.

“No, I need to go,” she says again. “I can’t… I’m sorry.” Her pained eyes don’t meet mine.

She pushes past me, her delicious scent reminding me of everything we shared last night, making it even harder to watch her walk out of here. She finds her shoes near the front door and shoves them on quickly, not looking back as she leaves.

I follow her at a distance, giving her space so she doesn’t feel cornered. Standing in the front doorway helplessly, I watch her open my truck to retrieve her purse, then climb into her own car and drive away.

She barely looks back at me.

It takes me a moment to tear my eyes away. I exhale a breath. Fuck.

I’m still holding the damned plate.

I turn to look at Miles, still sleeping on the porch, and give a hard kick to the leg of the bench he’s sleeping on.

The jerking motion jostles him awake. His eyes fly open and he squints at me with a frown. “What the hell, Jude?” he asks, like he hasn’t just scared Olena off and ruined my morning.

“Wake the fuck up, Miles.” I’m pacing in front of him.

“Okay, okay,” he relents as I pause and offer a reluctant hand to pull him up. He takes it and stands with a wobble.

“You good?” I ask.

“Yeah, man, I’m good. I’m good,” he assures me.

I don’t believe him.