And turns out I still don’t know how to do that, how to protect myself.
Because when he opens the door for me tonight, my whole body trembles. My breaths come out faster and I have to dig my nails into my palms to make it all stop.
“Thank you,” I say, finally looking at him, remembering my own manners.
His reaction to mythank youis not the same, however.
Before, he’d smirk or say something inappropriate or simply stare at me with bright intense eyes to make me blush.
Tonight, he does stare at me and his eyes do glow.
But he makes no comment. His stubbled jaw is harsh and his gorgeous features are tight.
Despite everything, I’m slightly disappointed, but I ignore it and get inside and then I have other thoughts. Other things to contend with besides his changed reaction.
Things like I’m inside his Mustang after two years. HisMustang.
Somewhere I never thought I’d be.
And those trembles intensify.
I shake as hard as his car does when he snaps the door shut after me.
Last time I was in this car, I drove it into the lake.
I was crying and shaking and in so much pain. And strangely it comes back to me that on that night, his Mustang smelled the same as it does tonight.
Wildflowers and woods.
And his seats, they feel the same too. The same plush smooth leather. The carpet even. Everything feels the same, cozy and warm and thrilling.
When Reed gets inside, I want to ask him about it.
I want to ask him how he managed that.
How he managed to put it all back together the same way as before.
He must be good then, right? Extremely good with cars if he could achieve this level of perfection. And I want to ask him.
I want to ask him why he never told me that he worked at a garage, that he has this amazing talent. So much so that he built this car with his own hands. Why he never shared those things with me, those little parts of himself.
Well, because he never loved you, Callie. You never meant anything to him.
Right. Of course.
There’s nothing for me to say to him then and so I let him drive me back to St. Mary’s in silence. Soon though, the ride comes to an end and we reach our destination.
He parks the car by the side of the road and I know that I should get out and leave. I should walk back through the woods and scale that fence to go back to my room.
But I can’t.
Because there is something that I want to say to him. There is and I can’t let it be.
I can’t keep quiet anymore.
Not when I’ve been wanting to do this for the past two years.
I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw his Mustang disappear into the lake.
