Page 149 of Crash Course

I want to tell him I’m busy, but there’s a tug deep in my chest amid the grief and shock.

I head past him out to the front porch. No one’s there, but the Corvette Stingray Jameson restored idles in front of our house.

The heaviness of moments ago slips away, pushed to the back of my mind.

It’s all breathtaking curves and beautiful design. My heart kicks as I run out onto the street and around the hood.

I feel like a kid seeing a unicorn. It’s painted the palest mint green. Like budding leaves on the first day of spring.

“It’s finished,” I say to no one. Not only restored, but a work of art.

“Been working on it around the clock.” Jameson’s voice from behind me sends tremors through every inch of my body.

He’s here.

I spin to face him.

After two weeks without seeing him, his presence is overwhelming. His athletic frame, strong shoulders, and lean hips defined even through his jacket and jeans. His hard jaw and full mouth. The dark lashes framing blue eyes and the hair that falls into them.

For a second, I wonder if I’m imagining him. Except I wouldn’t imagine him like this—the worry etched on his face, or the way he stands like he’s bracing for impact.

Jameson nods to the car without breaking my gaze. “What do you think?”

That’s like asking if I like sunshine or rainbows or the feel of the wind in my hair.

“It’s incredible,” I murmur, running a hand over the hood.

“It’s yours.” Jameson’s words have my gaze snapping up to him. “I built it for you.”

“Jameson…” I trail off because there are no words for what I’m feeling. It seems impossible to be surprised again this week. Somehow, I am.

“It has some safety modifications. Three-point seat belts. Roll cage in the frame. Disc brakes.”

“That’s very responsible of you,” I whisper, trying to make light of it.

Still, he looks lost. “I should have come sooner. I pushed you away when I found out what my father did. I couldn’t believe you would want anything to do with me, or that I deserved you, after what he cost you.”

His expression fills with guarded hope. “But I listened to your voicemail. I decided even if I can’t forgive what Luca did—to you, to Theo, to my mom—I didn’t have to own it. My father’s failings don’t have to be mine.”

I step closer and he tips my chin up, his breath light on my skin.

His forehead leans against mine, and it’s overwhelming to touch him again. I haven’t felt real these last few days.

“When I said you should leave”—his blue eyes bore into me—“it was only because I couldn’t ask you to stay. If you still want to go to college, I’ll carry your books. If you want to waitress at The Junction, I’ll rub your feet after every shift. If you want to work on cars, I’ll drive anything you touch. But no matter what, I’m going to be there.

“I told you once there wouldn’t be a happy ending for you and my brother,” he goes on. “But I hope to hell there can still be one for us.”

My chest expands until it feels like my ribs could crack. He’s here, and all I want is another second with him.

Another hour.

Another lifetime.

He waits me out, pulling back an inch.

“I spent my entire life thinking letting someone in was the dangerous part,” I say finally.

Jameson goes still. His expression softens, like I’ve handed him something fragile.