Her blue eyes narrow, tears still falling but then she shakes her head, “I don’t know why I try with you.” She snaps before she turns for the door and storms from the room.
A sudden wave of anxiety hits me, dread sinking like a weight into the pit of my stomach. Her place is twenty minutes across the city, it’s raining, she’s crying…
“Fuck!” I growl as I start after her.
The door is open by the time I turn the corner and Savannah is gone.
“Savannah!” I roar, setting off in a run after her to find her stomping down the path toward her carparked on the street. She’s drenched through already, white tee clinging to her, hair soaked.
“Savannah!” I yell but she doesn’t stop.
I run down the path after her, grabbing her upper arm before she can open her car door.
“What!?” She yells, “What do you want!?”
“You’re not driving like this,” I state harshly, water running down my own face, the rain coming down in torrents, flooding the streets and turning the day dark.
“Like you give a shit, Killian,” She tries to yank away from my grip, but I don’t give up that easily. “Let me go!”
“You are not driving like this!” I snap at her, “Get back in the fucking house!”
“Get fucked.”
I have her pinned to the car in the next breath, “I will put you over my shoulder, Savannah.”
In a matter of seconds, her face loses all emotion, her pain, her humiliation, heranger, it all just slips away and staring back at me is a woman void of feeling. And then she laughs.
“Try it,” She challenges.
God fucking damn it.
I feel my nostrils flare once as my teeth grind painfully together.Fine.
Leaning down quickly, I have my shoulder at her abdomen before she has time to react and lift her, throwing her over my shoulder as the rain continues to batter us both.
“Killian!” She screeches.
My feet pad through the puddles already on the ground, hair sticking to my forehead as I walk the short distance back to my house, the whole time she slams her tiny fists against the base of my back.
Once inside, I dump her down onto the couch but she’s up in a second, lifting a hand as if to strike me.
I don’t give her the chance.
“Don’t play games you’re not ready to win, Tiny Dancer,” I warn her, “You’re not driving in this weather in your state. Wait it out.”
“I hate you,” She spits.
The words should sting, but they don’t because I know they’re a lie. I know how she feels about me, I catch the looks, the longing and I recognize it because I see it in myself.
“I wish you did,” I lower my tone, “Truly. But we both know you don’t.”
“I am going home.”
“Don’t make me lock you in here, Savannah.”
There’s a pregnant pause, a battle of wills but then she drops her eyes and her shoulders sag. I hate it,every second of it but I’d rather do this than her driving in a storm.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” I release her, “You can clean up.”
