Page 41 of Home Town

“We gotta get moving.”

He tried to stand again and this time—with Josie’s help—he actually made it.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“Anytime.” She watched him for a disturbingly intense moment then spun on her heel, saying as she walked away, “Come on. I’ll drive you the two blocks home so you don’t get too winded.”

Amazingly, she lured a snort of a laugh out of him. “I could beat you in a race, any day,” he said, welcoming the levity of their familiar verbal sparring.

She blew out a loud lip-flapping breath. “And that’s a big accomplishment? Dude, I sit on my ass for a living. My exercise consists of going to the kitchen to refill my water bottle and get a snack.”

She settled behind the wheel of her parents’ car and stared at him through the open window. “Come on, Flash. Get in. I’ve got places to go. People to see.”

Sniffing out a short laugh, he made his way to the passenger side door.

Maybe Josie’s loathing was exactly what he needed right now.

Chapter Eighteen

Barely an hour later, Josie stood in the driveway, torn between happy and sad tears.

A big hug from her best friend Bailey started her on the emotional roller coaster. One judgmental stare from her brother Quinn, followed by his deeply mean and unnecessary, “What did you get yourself into now?” sent her careening down the first heart-pounding dip of that coaster.

“I didn’t do anything!” she defended, which was, sadly, the truth.

She hadn’t found the compass yet. They hadn’t even been able to get to see the surveillance footage from the gas station. She felt useless. Torn between crying and screaming in frustration.

A testament to her emotional distress was when Corey wandered over from his mother’s yard and she felt the squeeze in her heart. It was too reminiscent of the teenage crush she’d had on him. But it definitely couldn’t be that.

She wouldn’t allow it.

It had to be simple relief that her partner in crime—or rather in cleaning up this compass mess—was here for moral support. That’s all.

Admittedly, it was getting harder to hate Corey after seeing him so vulnerable. Broken. Defeated, sitting on the curb. His strong body and toned muscles useless to him as his brain betrayed him.

She’d had no idea his injury was that bad.

“You okay?” she mouthed to him as he neared.

He frowned then nodded, before turning to Quinn to shake his hand.

Message received. Tough guy didn’t want to talk about it. Especially not in front of another tough guy.

Cavemen. All of them.

Fine. She wouldn’t talk about it. But at least he was here to back her up with Quinn when he—and the town—eventually found out about the missing compass. Corey could tell them that it wasn’t her fault…

Except maybe it was.

She pushed those recurring doubts aside but they continued to cycle one by one, obsessively circling through her brain. Like some sort of sick merry-go-round.

She thought she checked but what if she had forgotten to lock the archive door upstairs? And she knew she hadn’t checked to make sure the front door downstairs had completely latched. Because Kirk had held it open for her. What if the door hadn’t closed all the way?

More than doors and locks, it was her who had moved the compass. Down to a lower shelf where it was visible to anyone who came in the room. Out in plain sight and ripe to be stolen instead of on the upper shelf where no one could see it. The historical society had probably put it up high on purpose and she went in and moved it.

And, with her usual efficiency, she’d immediately put the information about the compass and its immense value—to the community and as a rare historical artifact—online for everyone to see. Potential thieves included.

Countless hours of obsessing had given her that lengthy and devastating list of all the ways this could be—likely was—her fault.

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