I was afraid to touch anything aside from my seatbelt when I’d climbed into the passenger side after gawking at the thing the entire walk across the parking lot. Silas had made no show of giving me a tour to brag about the suped up features or how expensive the add-ons were when buying it.
He’d simply shoved me into the seat the moment he had the door popped open, and slammed it shut the second both of my legs were swung inside.
Honestly, I could appreciate the complete disregard for a piece of equipment this nice. Clearly, he was no stranger to having money and wasn’t at all interested in using that as a personality trait.
The car rumbled to life once the quick start button was pressed, and off we went.
No radio, no windows down to let in the breeze blowing by, to help fill the heavy silence that had fallen over us. My stomach still hurt from him touching it, but the rest of me was lit up like a damn candle, eager for him to touch me again.
“You into cars?” I asked.
His wrist flicked deftly on the gearshift. “Not particularly.”
Well, so much for that being a casual topic of conversation.
Leaning back in my seat, I held back a sigh. Trying to pick through Silas’s wall was… difficult. His stony disposition clashed hard with my easy-going one, making for a strained and unnatural exchange. I’d seen flashes of the other side of him once or twice in the hospital—the sarcastic and biting personality that he’d had to smother in cool professionalism—that was what I was really interested in.
Why did I want to try chipping my way down to it in the first place?
It was anyone’s guess.
Attraction?
Something else driving me to act this irrational?
Don’t expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational.
Jesus, fuck.
“Directions would be nice,” he said.
Oh, right. Leaning forward, I pointed through the windshield. “Right there. You can pull off in the driveway on the side. We’ve got a private lot in the back.”
“We,” he mumbled, flicking on his turn signal and shifting down a gear.
“My sister and I,” I replied. Then added, “And her three year old.”
He said nothing to that, silently waiting for traffic to clear before spinning his wheel around one-handed and pulling around to the back of my house. Surprisingly, our car wasmissing from the driveway with no signs that either of my family members were home.
Chances were Ainsley had come home with a sour attitude and now Amelia was driving her around town to try and lull her into a late nap. Not a bad idea, considering Ainsley was currently going through a growth spurt and her sleep regression had been a fucking bear to deal with.
Silas killed the engine of his car, leaving me to stare at his back while he climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him.
He’s… coming in?
Rapidly, my mind cycled through the state of what was waiting for us beyond the back door. Children’s toys were probably scattered everywhere, the house most likely still smelled like slightly burnt toast from breakfast this morning.
Fuck, did I remember to clean up Ainsley’s highchair before we left for the hospital?
I jumped when Silas ripped my door open.
I stayed stiff in my seat while he leaned into the cab and unhooked my seatbelt for me, pulling it back to rest against the door’s partition and then looping an arm under mine to help swing me out into the open air.
“How long am I supposed to baby myself?” I asked.
If this had to go on for another month, I may end up committing myself to the psych ward. No way did I have the capacity to sit on my ass for the next four plus weeks while my body slowly knitted itself back together.
I’d done too much Googling over the past few days trying to figure out how long I needed to behave before I could go back to work—the information ranging from a full six weeks tomonthsdepending on the severity.
