Mouth agape, Jamie stared at the e-mail that hit her in-box. Then she stared at her phone, where she’d gotten the notification.
“What’s wrong?” Monet slid into the booth seat beside Jamie.
“I got an e-mail.”
“Yeah, that’s amazing.” Sarcasm dripped off Monet’s words and her expressive green eyes.
“It’s from The Juilliard.”
Monet squealed and wrapped her arms around Jamie. “You applied! I am so proud of you. Man, you really had me fooled, saying you weren’t going to.”
“I didn’t!” Jamie frowned at the screen as its brightness faded. “I had the application, filled it out—for what reason, I don’t know. There’s no way on earth I could afford it. I even told Sean—” Jamie clamped her mouth shut. A swirl of cold washed through her stomach.
“What?”
She wet her lips. “I… I showed it to Sean. He told me I should apply.” Covering her mouth, she realized she hadn’t seen the application since that day in the park. Surely, he hadn’t…
“You think he turned it in?”
“No. Yes.” She slumped. “Why would he? I told him I couldn’t afford it.” She jammed a hand through her hair. “Now I’m going to have to call the school and tell them it’s no use.”
Monet clapped her hand over Jamie’s. “No.”
“No?”
“You have to try out, right?”
Dumbstruck, she nodded.
“Then go, try out—at least this way you’ll know if you’ve got what it takes.”
“But it’s weeks of practice and rehearsals.”
“So? Martin’s not doing anything now. He’s jetting around the globe, touring other troupes. You haven’t gotten a job yet, so you’ve got the time—”
“Thanks for pointing that out.”
“Hey, I’m just saying Sean has given you an opening, so take it!”
“First, I need to talk to Sean, let him know I don’t appreciate this.”
With a questioning glance, Monet asked, “Do you really want to ruin what you guys have going?”
Again, Jamie fell silent.
“He probably thought he was doing a favor—”
“Favor? I can’t afford this!”
“Get a loan.”
“No way. Not after all the debt my parents left behind getting their doctorates. I won’t put myself or anyone else in that situation.” She brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. “Digging myself into debt makes me look and feel irresponsible.”
“Or like you’re figuring out how to chase your dreams.”
“That is a thing of beauty.”
The words pulled Sean around, ratchet in hand.
A man in a brown leather jacket and boots strode toward him. Purpose defined the man’s steps. Wealth and power defined his presence. “Is she for sale?”
Sean placed a hand on the Harley. “‘Fraid not.” He’d never felt closer to his father than he had in the last several weeks working on this. It was as if he’d gotten a piece of his life back working on the antique bike. To give it away, he’d be giving away his father, his heritage.
The man planted his hands on his belt, his leather jacket winging back. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Marc Riordan.” The man shoved his hand toward Sean.
Arms up revealing his greasy paws, Sean shrugged. “Sorry. Wouldn’t want to get you dirty.”
Mr. Riordan produced a business card and slid it in Sean’s shirt pocket. “You change your mind about that bike, give me a call. I’d pay a pretty penny for her.”
“Why?”
Riordan grinned. “Guess you could say I’m a collector. Runs in the family.”
Huh. “Well, sorry. She belonged to my dad, and it’s got a lot of sentimental value. It’d be like giving away my dad.”
Chuckling, Riordan squatted and ran a finger over the parts. “Amazing. It’s all original.”
“Yes, sir. Just not running quite right yet. Won’t be much longer.”
A throaty growl emanated through the warehouse, drawing Sean’s attention to the main bay doors where a sleek car slid out of the bright sun into the bleak anonymity of the garage. Whoa. Was that an… Aston Martin? Old. Vintage.
Stunned, Sean watched as Harry climbed out from behind the wheel. He strode toward them. “Hey, Marc. Yep, I heard that rattle you mentioned. We’ll get her fixed up and back to you tomorrow.”
Riordan straightened and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Knew I could count on you. Thanks.” He turned back to Sean. “Twenty thousand.”
Sean’s heart stuttered. “What?”
“I’ll give you twenty grand for her.”
Mouth dry, Sean looked at Harry, uncertain the man was legit. Harry’s curious expression told Sean there was no fluff to this man’s offer. “All the same…” He wiped his mouth. “I just can’t.”
“If you change your mind, call me. The offer stands as long as she’s running.”
Harry watched his friend leave then spun toward Sean. “Are you out of your mind? He just offered you twenty large!”
“Yes, and I told him no. The Harley belonged to my dad. I’m not giving her up.”
“It could solve your problems.”
“Sorry,” Sean said with a chuckle. “Money’s not that powerful.” But God is. And if he were that desperate for money, God would provide a way that didn’t involve a transaction that felt like selling off his soul.
Harry shook his head then pointed behind Sean. Over his shoulder, he spotted Jamie walking up the drive to his bay. His heart did a crazy jig at the sight of her stepping in out of the spring morning. Even after their walks in the park every night, she still turned his insides to Jell-O, especially seeing her wearing the coin pendant. Scared but thrilled him. “I’ll get cleaned up, and we can head out.”
She nodded but said nothing. Weird. But maybe that meant she was just getting comfortable with him.
It wasn’t until they were halfway across the park that the quiet grew uncomfortable. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Feel the tension rolling off her with the way she kept her arms folded, barely spoke.
Normally he was the quiet one. She the exuberant. He liked that. Liked experiencing life through her. He’d wanted to ask her if she was okay, but it was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t. Or she’d be talking, laughing, matching the summer day.
The thought that stalled his brain was: Is she going to break things off?
What things? They weren’t dating.
“You’re quiet.”
Jamie stopped. Pivoted as if she’d been just waiting for him to break the ice. Her eyebrows dove. “Did you do it, Sean?”
He drew back. “Do what?”
“My application—did you send it in?”
He lowered his head. Rubbing a hand over his neck, he remembered how his gut had churned as he’d put the cashier’s check in the envelope and dropped it in the mail.
Jamie flinched away, pain etched in her tawny features. “Why?” Her voice hitched. “Why would you?”
“You deserve to go, Jamie. You’re an amazing dancer. You’ve sacrificed everything for Alan. It’s your turn now.”
Face crimson, she whirled on him. “No. It’s not. I can’t!” Her eyes glossed.
“Why? You got accepted—that’s how you knew I sent it in, right?”
She dragged her fingers through that light brown hair. “I can’t afford it.”
“I’m sure—”
“No.” Jamie jerked away from him. “No, don’t say anything. You had no right to send that in, and now…”
Had someone run a knife through his chest it would not have hurt as much as seeing Jamie in pain. “I’m sorry.”
“You had no right!”
His vision blurred and the world darkened with one last visage: Jamie running away from him.
Alone in his apartment, Sean sat on the kitchen chair staring at the brown padded envelope sitting on the table. Fingertips pressed to his lips, he eyed her name on the return address. JAMIE RUSSO. A weight in his chest made it hard to breathe.
He knew what was in there. The same thing that had been in there since he received the package a week ago: the pendant. Jamie was giving up on them. On him.
“I’m broken and nobody can deal with it.”
“You ruin everything.”
“If he just wasn’t born, we’d be okay.”
Head cradled in his hands, Sean tried to get a grip on reality. On his life spiraling out of control. It’d be okay. He’d lost other girls.
But nobody like Jamie.
Eyes closed, he tried to steady his breathing. The thought of her leaving him, cutting herself out of his life, had brought on episodes just about every day. He’d bailed on Harry and the garage this week. The fact was he couldn’t face the bike knowing he’d run Jamie off. It was like facing his father, and seeing all over again how he just wasn’t good enough.
Maybe… was it the scars, too? Had she figured out a pretty girl like her could have any guy she wanted? She deserved The Juilliard. She deserved a man who was a man—one who could hold it together.
I don’t deserve her, God. But… I don’t want to lose her. Show me… what can I do?
The letters.
No, he didn’t need any more history lessons that proved he was the weak link in the Wolfe line. He needed a solution.
Read the last letters.
That’s right. There was only one bundle left. Penned by his great-great-great-grandfather, William Wolfe during the war.
Maybe…
Sean dragged the tin from the counter and flipped it open. He dug out the last envelope.
Why… why should he even care?
Somehow… his fingers managed to unfold the oldest letter. The very first letter of the Wolfe legacy.