Page 49 of Holding On To Good

Urban stood and crossed to stand next to his brother. Side by side, as they’d been for so many things in their lives, they stared out into the darkness. “She’s okay.”

“When I heard her car was in a ditch, that she wasn’t anywhere around, when I couldn’t get through to her…” He exhaled heavily. “Scared the shit out of me.”

The night their parents died, they’d been driving home from watching Miles’s high school basketball team play in the semifinals of the state playoffs. Miles had opted to ride on the bus with the rest of the basketball team.

They’d come upon the accident just as the first responders had arrived. Miles had seen the crumpled car, and though he’d never admitted it to any of them, Urban suspected he’d seen their parents, too. Their mother, barely clinging to life, trapped in the car. Their father, already dead.

Urban slapped Miles’s shoulder. Gave it a squeeze. “She’s okay,” he repeated softly. “She’s at home, safe in her bed. She’s a good kid. She’s going to be fine. And we survived Silas. We can survive anything.”

Even in the dim light, Urban could make out his brother’s pitying expression. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Urban finished his beer. “I’d better get back inside. Check on Willow.”

They went inside. Urban set his empty bottle on the counter then followed Miles through the house. Turned to go up the stairs as Miles opened the front door.

“Heard Miranda’s back in town.”

Urban stopped, one foot on the floor, the other on the first stair.

“Donahue saw her coming out of Slice of Sicily earlier tonight,” Miles continued. “He said she looked good. Real good.” He paused. “Thought you should know.”

“I already knew. I ran into Miranda and her kids when I was picking up dinner.”

“And?”

“And Donahue was right. She looks good.”

“No,” Miles said, giving Urban his cop look, intense and searching. “How’d it go? Seeing her again?”

Urban shrugged. “Fine.”

“You still hung up on her?”

Leave it to Miles to make Urban sound like some pathetic, lovestruck idiot, still pining for the girl who got away.

“No,” he said firmly, honestly, as he headed up the stairs.

But he might just be a pathetic, lovestruck idiot pining for his best friend.

Chapter Nine

Everything hurt and she was dying.

At least, Willow hoped death came soon. It felt like she’d been hit by a truck.

But as death was just so damn permanent, she’d happily take slipping back into unconsciousness for the next… oh… two or three days.

Except that blissful time had ended over an hour ago when she woke up, still wearing her dress from yesterday, the throw blanket from the foot of her bed tangled around her legs.

Her stomach roiled again, a friendly reminder of the fun, glorious time she’d spent hugging the toilet during the night while her body expelled all traces of alcohol from her system.

Her wonderful, magical, bubbly champagne had turned on her but good.

No surprise. The best things in life never lived up to their hype.

Something was slammed onto the kitchen table next to where Willow’s head rested on her crossed arms. She groaned.

“Drink up.”

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