“Two minutes,” Dax says as his phone vibrates on the small table between us. “The driver knows to identify himself when we get outside.” He stands and unfolds his cane, and I curl my fingers around his elbow to guide him towards the door. But he pulls away with a half-hiss, half-growl. “Don’t.”
Backing up a step, I raise my hands. “What did I do?”
His free hand clenches into a fist at his side, and lines of strain bracket his lips. He’s breathing heavily, and he shakes his head. “Never,” he says, his voice harsh and rough, “touch a blind man without an invitation. Where’s the trash can?” He fumbles for his coffee cup, and I’m so shocked, I don’t even think.
“Over there.”
“Evianna, do you think I have any idea where you’re pointing? Try using clock time. It’s the most reliable.”
Heat crawls up my neck, flooding my cheeks. “To your right. Um, four o’clock? Ten feet.”
With his cane tapping on the tile floors, he reaches the trash bins and manages to get his empty cup inside after the second try. Turning, he makes a beeline back to me. “Head for the car. It’s a black SUV. I’ll follow you.”
I nod before I realize what I’m doing. “O-kay.”
A black Toyota rolls up to the curb, and a uniformed driver hops out. “Mr. Holloway?” the driver asks as we approach, Dax only a foot behind me. “I’m Thomas with Transportation Unlimited.”
“Yes. We’re headed to 1846 Newland Place.”
“Absolutely, sir.” The driver opens the back door, and I’m so out of my element, I don’t know what to do.
Holding out his hand to me, Dax sighs. “Show me where the door frame is.”
When I do, his warm fingers don’t flinch, and he slides into the back seat with ease and folds up his cane. I stay as far away from him as I can when the driver shuts the door and jogs around to the front of the car.
“Just to confirm, 1846 Newland Place?” the driver says.
“Yes. Thank you.” My voice isn’t steady, and I wish I could rewind the past twenty minutes and avoid Dunkin’ Donuts completely. But we’re trapped here now, and I don’t know what to say to the man next to me.
“About before.” Dax runs a hand through his hair, highlighting a scar slashing across his forehead and one misshapen eyebrow. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. Reflex.”
His face carries the weight of his apology, and though he can’t see me, I think a hint of sorrow lingers in his ultra-pale blue eyes.
“Apology accepted. I was just—”
“Trying to help. I get it. Look, did you ever go to one of those haunted houses when you were a kid? The kind where they turned off all the lights and the employees had night vision?”
A laugh starts to threaten, and I nod. “Of course. My friends and I went every year in high school.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stares—or appears to stare—out the window. “How scared were you when someone grabbed you in the darkness?”
“One year, I went with a new boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure I peed my pants. That relationship didn’t last.”
His voice is low. Quiet. So quiet the traffic almost hides his words. “My entire life is one big, hazy, haunted house.”
“Oh.” My gaffe sinks in, and shame keeps my voice to a whisper.
“If I need help, I’ll ask. Then it’s fine to take my arm. Or if you’re really worried about me running into a wall or falling into an open manhole or something, warn me you’re about to touch me.” His voice is softer now, almost as if he’s ashamed he has to ask for help at all.
We don’t speak for the rest of the trip, and when the driver pulls over at the end of my block—a quintessential Boston neighborhood with no parking and a street barely wide enough for a single car—I thank him, scan the street, then turn to Dax. “I don’t see Vasquez.”
“Hang on.” He tucks his Bluetooth in his ear and taps the button. “VoiceAssist: call Vasquez.”
The call connects, and after a minute, Dax makes a frustrated sound—almost a growl. “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I don’t care if you got stuck behind a Duck Boat. You plan for these things. How much longer?”
When he taps his earbud again, the stress lines around his lips deepen. “Vasquez is still ten minutes away.”
Pulling out my phone, I check Alfie’s status. “My cameras haven’t caught anything in the past hour. I’ll be fine. It’s still early.”
