The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

When that day’s session ended, I waited for Jack outside the Wilmington courthouse. He wore a strained expression as he walked to me in his tailored suit. He’d shaved off his scruff, and I missed it. What I didn’t miss was the exhaustion that pervaded him.

“I could drive,” I offered as he approached.

Jack shook his head as he reached for my hand. I let him take it without resistance, slipping my fingers through his and holding on tight.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Em.”

I pressed into his side as we walked toward the parking lot. “You did brilliantly, Jack. You were so calm and collected.”

“It took a lot,” he admitted gruffly. “I wanted to throw a punch at his smug face.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. I wanted to punch him too.”

“You already shot him,” Jack reminded me with a wry smile.

I grinned, glad to see some lightness in his eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

Jack pulled open the passenger door of his truck and helped me up. “I’m just glad you don’t have to face him in a trial for that.”

Me too.

“Are you hungry?” I asked as Jack got into the cab and started the engine. “We could go to The Boardwalk. I haven’t dined there yet, but Bailey and Vaughn said the food is great.” Other than my eventful dinner with Sebastian at Iris and Ira’s, I hadn’t seen the chef out and about at all. It would appear he’d been telling the truth when he said he was a workaholic.

“I’m wiped, Em. But if you’re hungry, we could grab something and take it back to yours.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell between us as Jack drove home. It was comfortable, although I was worried about him.

He looked so melancholy and distant.

I didn’t like it.

We stopped at a drive-through sandwich place closer to town and then Jack drove us to my place. Despite my concern about how distant he was being, I didn’t want to push him. And I thought after a day of constant interrogation, the last thing Jack needed was someone badgering him with questions. Instead, I offered to turn on the sports channel—Jack shot me a tender look. I handed him the remote.

And although I didn’t want to appear as if everything was about me, when we sat on opposite sides of the sectional with our food, I voiced my concerns. “If there’s even an infinitesimal part of you worried about how I feel about what I heard in there today—about the blackmail and everything—Jack, I don’t blame you. All I kept thinking was, God, it must’ve been awful for you, being forced to be a party to those things. I hurt for you. I wish I had known back then so I could’ve been a comfort.”

His tired eyes moved to me from the screen and something eased in his expression. “You were a comfort.”

We shared a small smile. Sensing we were okay, that Jack was genuinely exhausted, I let silence fall between us. Once we’d eaten, I removed all my jewelry and placed the silver on my coffee table. I caught Jack watching me. He did this a lot—watched me take off my jewelry. As if the familiarity satisfied him in some way.

I ignored that possibility because it made me feel weirdly needy for him.

I casually reached for my e-reader and while I read, Jack watched a rugby game between New Zealand and Wales. My father liked rugby. I remembered him taking me to a match when we were in England as part of a European summer vacation. I was ten. Dad had done a ton of business while we were abroad that summer, so the game was my fondest memory of my father. It was one of the few times he was focused on me, trying to teach me the rules of the game. My mother thought rugby was inappropriate for a young girl, and I don’t recall my father ever taking me again after that.

As I was talented at doing, I drowned out the TV and fell into my book.

I didn’t know how much time passed before I realized I needed to use the bathroom. Uncurling myself from the sectional, I glanced over at Jack and faltered.

I’d missed him stretching his long body on the couch and he’d fallen asleep on his side, his head on an oversized cushion. My sectional had deep, wide seat cushions, and the urge to tuck myself in beside him was real. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie when we’d come into the house. The buttons of his collar were opened, and he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his tan, corded forearms.

I felt more than a tingle of need in all my good places and glanced away guiltily. The last thing Jack deserved was me ogl

ing him. With a sigh, I got up quietly and went to the restroom. The art deco clock on the wall above the dining table said it was only eight forty-five. It was still fairly early and yet, it might as well have been midnight for how tired I was. On my return, I yawned as soon as I looked at Jack.

That urge to curl up beside him and sleep grew stronger.