The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

As if he didn’t exist.

As if he hadn’t waited for over an hour just to see her.

But what else had he expected?

He’d stood her up and then weeks later screwed his best friend’s wife.

Jack turned to watch Emery walk away.

It hurt.

It hurt a fucking lot.

Good.

It’s only what I deserve.

Taking a deep breath, Jack turned from watching Emery and strode across the street to the fancy car he hated. He got in, making sure not to wrinkle the fancy suit he hated, and he drove back to South Hartwell to the fancy house he hated.

By the time he got there, he felt nothing but cold again.

8

Emery

Four and a half years ago

* * *

There were many advantages to owning a beach house, but that morning, it was seeing Jack running along the shore.

Two days ago, when we’d acknowledged each other’s presence outside the counseling building where I volunteered with the kids, my hurt manifested into coldness that I regretted as soon as I got into my car. Ahmad, the receptionist, had said a guy was in asking for me at the beginning of the playgroup, but it wasn’t until I reached my car that I realized it must’ve been Jack.

Jack had waited outside that building for an hour for me.

Why? I didn’t know.

I knew I had every reason to be mad at him … but when he looked at me with those soulful, sad eyes, a voice inside told me something was not right. Iris had said it months ago, before Jack cheated with Dana.

But I’d let my hurt control my response outside the building.

Now, seeing his expression in my mind over and over again, the guilt ate at me.

What if something had happened? What if Jack needed someone to talk to?

Was I a fool to even offer him that kind of compassion or benefit of the doubt?

All questions fled as soon as I saw him running past my house.

I moved.

I slid my coffee cup onto the porch table, kicked off my fuzzy slippers, and hurried down the steps and through the private gate that offered beach access. It was winter in Delaware, so I was wearing thermal pajamas and an oversized knit sweater.

It mildly concerned me that Jack wore only a T-shirt and jogging pants.

But he was running, so I guess he was warm.

“Jack!” I called, struggling through the sand in my cold, bare feet.