“Ahh. Mummy dear’s house,” I reply and go to stand. “But I do think they will look there.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Sarcastic replies, because god forbid you say what you really feel.”
“Sometimes I really want to give you a high five. In the face. With a chair,” I mutter. “Haven’t I shown enough? What more do you want from me?” I slide off the car and go to stomp past him.
“Sometimes, I want to bend you the fuck over,” he growls at me, gripping my wrist as I go to walk past him. “Stop pushing me away. Stop pretending you’re okay. Just stop, Luce. I know what you’re doing, and it may have worked with Andrews, but it won’t work with me.”
“Don’t say his name.”
“Don’t push me away,” he repeats, his eyes boring into mine, the lights from the car illuminating our bodies. But the moment is heavy and heady.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” I admit. My throat full, my heart beating rapidly. “I don’t know how to move past what happened between us. I’m so conflicted,” I admit.
His hands come up to my face, gripping them in his huge palms. The pads of his fingers wipe away tears I hadn’t even realised had fallen.
“We talk it through, we share the burden, just like we used to. Nothing has changed,” he says, his eyes beseeching
“Everything’s changed,” I whisper. “Everything.”
But he’s shaking his head. “Nothing’s changed. Why can’t you see that? It’s you and me, just like it used to be. But this time, I’m not walking away. And neither are you.”
He rests his forehead against mine. Our breath mingles as I grip onto his shirt, fisting the material in my hands as I stop myself from falling into his warmth. Because if I fall into it, I won’t want to move. How can I do what comes next if I’m too emotionally involved?
Okay, that ship has sailed.
My eyes clench shut as I try to pull away, but his hold on me tightens.
“No, Luce, I know you.” He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, all the while tears that I have no control over fall. “I know you. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re lost. I know that you hate me, and you want to blame me. I know you want to lash out at Maria. Hell, I know you want to kill Andrews all over again.”
A small sound escapes my lips as I reach up with my second hand, fisting it into his material. He’s right. Nothing has changed. I am all those things, but I’m so terrified that whatever comes will end up with him walking away and me being alone again.
Just like before.
I’ve done something I never thought I’d do; I’ve given up control.
Temporarily.
I haven’t gone completely insane.
Owen is behind the wheel, driving through the quiet, darkened roads. The only lights come from the odd passing car. Other than that, we are in a quiet area of Surrey.
I open the glove compartment and look for anything to re-wrap my arm, which is still bleeding, but not as heavily. The temporary bandage is saturated.
This is Andrews’ car. There should be a first aid kit.
“How much further?” I ask as I rummage inside the glove compartment. Why hadn’t I sorted it before we had got back in the car? Hindsight was a fucking bitch.
“About fifteen more minutes. What are you doing?” Owen glances across at me.
“I’m still bleeding. I need to re-wrap it.”
“Do you have a knife?” he asks, and I raise my eyebrow. “Of course you have a knife—”
“Never leave home without it.”
