“Kenneth,” I say with a sigh, “you can’t let them run you into an early grave.”
“This is my job,” he replies stubbornly.
“To die young so Mrs. Roberts can read her newspaper in peace? C’mon.” I snort in annoyance. “You know she’s mean.”
“She is… not the most pleasant person, but she’s part of this town, Josie. You can’t do that.” His face turns cold, and I figure this is where we part ways.
“I was just trying to—” I cut myself off before I say too much.
“What? What did you try to do, Josie? Make sure I was the talk of the town before I even drank my coffee?”
“I was trying to protect you!” I yell, mad at him for assuming the worst of me. “A crazy neighbor is knocking on your door when you’re so exhausted that you don’t even hear the bell. Damn right, I’ll be protecting the front. And the back. And the damn sides too! You let all of them run you into the ground because you want to fix everything. It doesn’t work like that if you want to stay sane.”
His head rears back before his eyes narrow, and he hisses, “You want to talk about sane? A person who tried escaping a cop on a muddy road in the middle of the fucking woods? That sane person?”
I pinch my lips tight before I do something stupid like launch myself at his jugular to drink the blood of my enemy and then bathe in it.
And he just keeps going, not knowing how close he is to losing his dick. “And guess what? I don’t need protection from anyone, let alone someone like you.”
I quirk a brow, waiting to see where he’s going with this because it’s got to be good.
“… Someone who’s just passing through while everyone else stays.”
His mouth clamps shut as he considers if he said too much but doesn’t want to back down.
This, right here, is another reason why I must get the hell out of here—Sheriff Benson has the ability to see right through people to keep the town safe, and it seems as if he doesn’t like what he sees in me.
“I see,” I mumble, backing away.
His eyes follow my movement while the muscles in his cheek pop from pressing his teeth together too hard. When my ass is through the door of my bedroom, he lets out the loudest sigh I’ve ever heard a human make.
“Give me a second, I’ll get dressed.”
“No need,” I squeak, throwing my open palm in front of me as I peek out the door. “I’ll call Alicia to pick me up. Or I’ll walk.” Even though my phone is still in my baby-car buried in mud. But I want out of here so badly that I just might walk right over to Mrs. Roberts and ask to borrow hers.
“Josie.” Another sigh. “You don’t have any clothes; you can’t walk outside like that.”
“Right.” I nod a few times. “It’s against the law to walk without underwear.” I give him a sweet smile. “I’ll hide between buildings then, like the dirty little secret I am.”
“Joz,” he calls out, but I point a finger at him.
“Stop, don’t even think about it. Whatever you’re thinking. I’ll be fine.”
“Joz—”
“Don’t call me that,” I cut him off, getting more upset. “Only friends can call me Joz.” His face darkens, so my cruel words hit the mark. “Thank you for taking me in, Sheriff. I really appreciate it, but you’re right, I’m just passing through.”
With that, I back into the room and close the door. Leaning against the wall, I press my hand to my mouth and cry. Silently. Letting my body shake violently because I’m sick and tired of everything and because life keeps throwing me curveball after curveball.
Being strong is exhausting.
Once I’m done sniffling, I walk to the mirror and fix myself the best I can, which isn’t a lot to begin with since I don’t have any of my pick-me-up things. Then I square my shoulders and walk out the very same door I just leaned on.
He’s waiting for me in the kitchen, dressed in a clean, pressed uniform, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. His hair is perfectly tousled. I’ve been hiding for a maximum of five minutes, and he already looks like he just visited a barbershop and Starbucks at the same time.
When he sees me, he picks up another mug from the table I hadn’t noticed before and offers it to me. I shake my head, refusing the Trojan horse. No matter how delicious it smells. He silently puts the mug back, finishes his coffee in one go, and rises to his feet.
I’m standing, unsure on my feet as I shift my weight. Rejecting his offer to give me a ride seemed like a powerful move at the moment, but to think of it, it wasn’t very mature. As he pointed out (rightfully so), I don’t have clothes besides his T-shirt on. I didn’t wash my clothes yesterday because I simply forgot. I was exhausted from the adrenaline withdrawal, then he was tired in the kitchen, and I didn’t ask where I could do it, and then I was preoccupied with the thoughts about his pierced tip (maybe). So all my belongings are now in a plastic bag I found yesterday under the sink—I wasn’t surprised when I saw that he, too, has a bag with bags.
