His Holiday Crush Page 2

  Whatever. I wouldn’t be there long enough to dwell on the past.

  …

  A quick change of clothes and a hastily packed overnight bag later, I was cruising along on the I-87 highway on my way to Edgewood for the first time in ten years. My jaw ached from clenching it so much, and not just because of the snow making the visibility crap. Returning to the town where my worst memories lived had never been part of my plans. But I could set aside my issues and make the girls’ holidays a little less bleak, at least for one night.

  Which reminded me I needed to call Hal about my plans. I said his name aloud and waited for my phone to dial.

  He answered after a single ring. “If you’re calling to bail, Max, I swear to God—”

  “I’m not calling to bail.” Of course, if I hadn’t already talked to Marnie, I would have been calling to bail, but he didn’t need to know that. “I just wanted to let you know I’m on the road now.”

  “Really?” Hal sounded both surprised and pleased. “That’s great. I thought I’d have to fight a lot harder to get you back here, honestly.”

  “Well…”

  He sighed. “Here it comes.”

  “I’m only staying for the night.”

  “You’re coming all this way just to spend one night here?” Hal exclaimed.

  “I’ve got a prep meeting tomorrow for a big deal going down on Monday, and I have to be here for those.”

  “Have you ever heard of Zoom?” my best friend asked sarcastically. “I understand it’s all the rage these days.”

  “Ha, ha,” I deadpanned. “Yes, I’ve heard of Zoom, but these sorts of meetings are never as effective online as they are in person.” Hal didn’t say anything. “Hal. C’mon, you know I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t a big deal, but this client could make or break my career with the firm. I’ve been working toward this moment for the past three years. Three years.”

  “Max,” he said on a sigh. “I know how hard you work, and I’m glad things are finally coming together. And hey, it’s really not necessary for you to come out if you’re this busy. The girls will understand.”

  The hell they would. “You’re such a liar. They’re singing and dancing about it, aren’t they?”

  “To the tune of ‘Let It Go,’” Hall affirmed, a little bit of good humor entering his voice. “Look, if you’re sure, then I’ll let them stay up late tonight so they can spend time with you when you get in. It’s sweet of you to do this for them.”

  “And you.” Because now that I was listening to him, really listening, I could hear the stress in Hal’s voice. Of course he was stressed—he was running his own contracting company, taking care of two young daughters over their school break, and going through a divorce, all without any backup. Suddenly, I felt like crap for not doing better on the visit front. Even a single phone call a week might have made a difference for him, but I’d been so wrapped up in this deal that I’d forgotten everything except work. “I’m coming for you, too.”

  “Eh, I’m doing okay. Nicky’s tour ended six months ago, and he settled back in town, so he’s helping out with the girls when my neighbor can’t.” Nicky was Hal’s brother, four years younger than us. I barely remembered him. “Be careful on the drive, all right? They’re forecasting a hell of a storm front coming through. Snow’s already coming down here.”

  “You bet.” Hal and I said good-bye, and I felt good enough to turn the volume up on the radio. Holiday songs on all stations, familiar and merry and mindless, just what I needed to listen to when I had too many things to think about already.

  The first two hours of the drive were a breeze, but my cheer began to ebb as the snow piled up higher and higher between the lanes and on the side of the highway. By the time I turned onto State Route 10, the veil of snow beyond my windshield made it hard to see anything. My wipers might as well have been standing still for all the good they did me. The road was practically abandoned—not surprising, considering the destination—which was good, because I didn’t want to hit anyone. I wasn’t going to stop, though, rear-wheel drive bullshit and poor visibility or not.

  That wasn’t exactly careful behavior. If I turned around now, I could get back to Schenectady in under fifteen minutes and find a hotel. But if I did that, I’d spend the one night I’d decided to take to see Hal and his daughters by myself, which completely defeated the purpose of driving up here for the night in the first place.

  Nope. Not happening. I’d be fine. I was almost there. There were no signs, but there didn’t need to be. If you took this road for long enough, you’d end up in the center of the little town of Edgewood, population around twenty thousand—up to triple that in the summer when the tourists came to play in the wilderness areas of Adirondack Park.

  The radio played a vibrant version of “Let It Snow” as I peered through the windshield—how appropriate. I was close. I was so close. I could practically see the streetlamps in the distance. I could see the—

  Deer!

  It jumped right out in front of my car, freezing in the glare of my headlights. I jerked my wheel hard to the right, toward the shoulder. Jump away, jump away! The deer didn’t move, but I still missed it by inches.

  I didn’t miss the snowbank, though. I hit it with the front right corner of the car, which crumpled with an ear-splitting crunch and sent the rest of the car careening in a half spin until the whole thing ended up lodged sideways in the bank. My airbag saved me from hitting the steering wheel, but I still felt like I got punched in the face as I sat there afterward, quietly stunned as my brain tried to process what my body had just gone through.

  “—it snow, let it snow, let it snow! When we finally kiss good night—” I shut off the radio in a daze.

  “Fuck,” I whispered. “Holy—fuck.”

  Where was my phone? Shit. I needed to call someone. I needed help. There was no way I was getting my car out of this snowbank by myself. I knew that much without trying. I’d need a tow.

  I fumbled for my phone and stared at it for a moment. I should call…um…my insurance, to let them know about the accident? Hal, to let him know I’d be late? A tow company? In the end, though, the only numbers my fingers could reliably find were 9-1-1.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “Um…” C’mon, brain. “It’s not really an emergency, but, ah…I crashed my car.”

  “Are you or anyone else involved in the accident injured, sir?”

  “It’s just me, and…no. Not really. Not much.”

  I thought I heard the operator sigh. “Sir, if you’ll give me your location, I’ll notify the local police department to come and assist you.”

  Right. Not an emergency. I passed on my information and was told to expect someone within the next ten to fifteen minutes. “It’s the best we can do in this weather, sir,” the operator informed me, and I got it. There had to be a lot of people crashing thanks to this snowstorm, and mine was a single car, non-injury accident. I wasn’t exactly a top priority.

  My engine wasn’t running, but the inside of my car was still marginally warmer than the outside of it, even now that the passenger-side window was cracked. I sat there and did my best to stave off serious case of the “what-ifs.” It wasn’t working.

  What if I’d hit the snowbank harder? What if I’d rammed the deer? What if I’d died on a country road a week before Christmas and made Hal feel guilty about me being an idiot forever? How would the girls take it? Shit. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  At least I hadn’t hit anyone else. That was a mercy.

  I scrubbed my trembling hands over my face, wincing a little at the pressure it put on my right cheek. That was going to bruise. My jaw bristled with a five o’clock shadow, and my hair had gone from stiff to floppy after hours melting under the blast of the heater. I had to look like a total disaster right now. Ha, a perfect match for my car.
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br />   Like a match flaring up in the darkness, a pair of headlights appeared through the falling snow ahead of me. I resisted the urge to get out and wave them over to my side of the road—if it was the police, they’d stop. If it wasn’t, then I’d do better letting them drive on and get home to their own family anyway.

  The vehicle, a Jeep with an Edgewood PD logo on the side of it, pulled in across the road from me, leaving its headlights on. A figure got out from the driver’s side and headed over to me, one hand holding up a flashlight. I tried to roll down my window—nothing. The battery must have gotten fucked up, too. Great. I heaved a sigh then opened the door and got out of the car.

  “Hi there, Officer,” I said, waving a hand before crossing my arms over my chest—shit, it was cold out here. I could barely see the person behind the glare of their light. “I’m really hoping that you’re my ride.”

  For a long moment, there was no reply, and I wondered where I’d gone wrong. Was this not really a cop? Was I about to get murdered by a flashlight-wielding serial killer?

  Calm down the lizard brain, man.

  “Yep,” the guy said at last. His voice was a little rough, like he’d just downed a shot of whiskey. “That’s me.”

  A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Maybe this crash wasn’t the worst thing ever, if it meant getting rescued by this guy.

  Chapter Two

  Dominic

  Dinah’s Diner was the first place you saw coming into Edgewood and the last place you passed leaving it. It was the unofficial hangout of the force, with good food that was fairly cheap, as long as you didn’t mind Dinah listening over your shoulder as calls came in over the radio. I was halfway through a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes when I got the call from dispatch with word of a car accident on Route 10. No injuries, but the car was undriveable, from the sound of things, and the guy needed someone to come and pick him up.

  I sighed and put my fork down. I was the only person in the diner tonight other than Dinah and her husband Troy, who doubled as the line cook. It was just seven thirty, but with this weather, nobody else was dumb enough to be out and about. As Edgewood’s officer on call until tomorrow morning, it meant that this and whatever any other unlucky soul or drunk dumbass decided to do in the next twelve hours was all on me. Dinah, a plump redhead in her sixties wearing a handmade gingham apron over her Metallica T-shirt and jeans, patted me on the hand before pointedly filling my travel mug with coffee.

  So much for catching up on my reading.

  “What’s the name of the guy I’m off to rescue?” I asked over my radio as I set a twenty down on the table. Dinah scowled at me, but I put my plate on top of it and resolutely didn’t let her pull it out and bring me half of it back as change.

  “Uh, hang on…looks like a Mr. Max Robertson.”

  I’d just taken a sip of my fresh hot coffee, and hearing that name promptly sent it down the wrong tube. I coughed, trying not to swallow my tongue as I came to grips with what I was hearing. Max Robertson? Back in Edgewood? Or, you know, on the road five minutes outside of it. Shit, I hadn’t thought about him in…

  Days, at least. It had been days. It wasn’t reasonable to think about your first crush any more often than that, and I was a reasonable guy.

  Calm down. It might not even be the same Max Robertson. There were probably hundreds of them. Thousands.

  Yeah, but how many of those thousands would bother heading here?

  “Max Robertson?” Dinah put one hand on her hip as she frowned thoughtfully at the snow. “You think she means Maxfield Robertson? Max Senior’s boy?”

  “Maybe,” I said, trying for noncommittal. Judging from the look on her face, I hadn’t quite managed it.

  “Wasn’t he best friends with your brother?”

  “He still is, as far as I know.” I got up from the booth and grabbed my thick, puffy down jacket. “Hal and the girls go to visit him in the city once a year or so.”

  “Has he been back to visit before this?”

  “I don’t know.” My brother had never mentioned anything about Max coming here. But I’d only been back in town myself for about six months, and four months of that had been absolute chaos after Ariel left.

  “Huh.” She looked at me. “You should bring him by for some supper.”

  Oh boy. “I’m sure he’s got somewhere to be, Dinah. Probably Hal’s.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Like Hal’ll have anything edible going at home. Face it, honey, your brother cooks from boxes. I’ll make enough for the boy to take with him. On the house, of course.”

  “Dinah—”

  “It’ll just take five minutes.”

  I sighed. There was no gainsaying Dinah sometimes, especially when her ultimatums involved food. “I’ll see what he wants. He might not be hungry.”

  “If it’s Max Jr., I know he’ll be hungry for my cooking.” She shooed me out the door, the bell clinging merrily as I walked out into the snow. Christ, it was coming down hard.

  I blew once on my hands then grabbed my gloves as I headed for my Jeep. After graduating from the police academy, once I was hired by Edgewood PD, they’d asked if I minded using my own car as my police vehicle. It was a small department, and vehicles that could get around in any weather were hard to afford. I didn’t mind, anything to help me pay it off faster, but I surreptitiously checked it for dirty napkins or drink containers before I left the diner parking lot.

  I had to stop panicking.

  It might not be the same guy.

  …

  I clung to that thought as I drove down Route 10, keeping my eyes open for any sign of the car accident. After what had happened with Max—with his dad, more specifically—I don’t think anyone expected him to come back here, especially not with his father still living on the outskirts of town. Mayor Robertson had been a great guy: extroverted, garrulous, and a good money manager. Everybody had loved him, until he got behind the wheel while drunk and hit another car coming home from a fundraiser.

  It happened during Max and Hal’s senior year, back when I was just a freshman. The girl who died, Everly, had been a classmate of theirs.

  After the accident, Max had spent a week at our house and barely said a thing the whole time. I remembered his shouting match with his father in my parents’ driveway and how his dad had forced him into the car. That was the last time I saw him, apart from Everly’s funeral. He and his mom left Edgewood right after that. Hal didn’t like to talk about it, so I hadn’t brought up Max more than once since then.

  I shook my head free of the memories and focused.

  Visibility was crap, even with the Jeep’s floodlights. I drove slowly and looked out for anything that stood out among all the white. Aha. There, up on the right side of the road, just past the bridge. The car’s lights were out, but the shadow of it was distinct against the wall of snow it had crashed into. Damn. I hoped he really was uninjured and not just in shock while he’d talked to 911.

  I parked on the righthand shoulder, grabbed my flashlight, and got out of the car. The silhouette of a man greeted me, resolving into a familiar face as I got the light up.

  Oh, shit. It was him. It was Max “Don’t call me Maxfield” Robertson. Same dark blond hair, same oddly bright blue eyes—like someone had opened up a fresh can of aquamarine paint and infused it with sunshine. He’d always looked like a movie star to me, only he’d gone from teenybopper dreamboy to A-list icon. He was ridiculously handsome in a pair of tight jeans and a dark, V-necked Henley.

  He also looked ridiculously cold—why the hell wasn’t he wearing a coat?

  “Hi there, Officer,” he said, and fuck, yep, I hadn’t misremembered that voice in the ten years since I’d last seen him. Max was an average-sized guy, but his voice had broken low and stayed that way. “I’m really hoping that you’re my ride.”

  It took me
a second to realize that he hadn’t used my name. Could he not see my face? Did he not recognize me? Not the time, I muttered internally. “Yeah, that’s me,” I said after a moment, pausing to clear my throat. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Apart from some wounded pride and a kiss on the cheek from my airbag, I’m fine.” He glanced at the car. “It won’t start. Otherwise, I’d have moved it further off the road.”

  I took a look at the car—a four-door BMW sedan—and decided it was okay as-is for now. None of it was sticking out into the lane, at least. “It’ll keep,” I said. “How did the crash happen?”

  “I did a great job of dodging a deer but a really crappy job of dodging a snowbank.” He rubbed his hands along his arms. “Can we talk more about it in your car? I don’t mean to push, but I’m freezing.”

  Jeez, of course he was. “Sure thing,” I said. “Do you have anything with you that you want to bring, Mr. Robertson? A bag, maybe a coat and hat?”

  His eyes shut for a moment. “Right. Yes, let me grab that.” He opened the back door, and I heard a zipper swoosh up and down for a moment. When he straightened up again, he had a backpack at his feet and was shrugging a thick leather jacket on over his shoulders. He looked a little sheepish. “I forgot all about it.”

  Yeah, there had definitely been some shock happening here. I decided not to press, just nodded and led him back to the Jeep. His shoes slipped on the snow—he was in a pair of black, shiny loafers. Loafers, seriously. I grabbed his arm to help keep him upright but let him get into the Jeep himself. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Don’t drive off without me, okay?”

  “Very trusting, Officer,” he replied, amusement lacing his voice despite his obvious cold and discomfort.

  “Nah, you just look like the kind of guy who knows when he’s beat.”

  Max laughed. “You’d be surprised.”