A hand shoots toward me and opens the door, then I’m yanked out so powerfully and harshly, I don’t understand what’s going on.
I’m lying on top of a muscular chest, strong arms wrapped around my back as a loud bang echoes in the air.
My fuzzy eyes look back as the car explodes.
My car.
The one I was in seconds ago.
Oh. Was I going to die?
“Are you okay?” A gloved hand grabs my cheek, pulling my attention to the man who dragged me out.
Marcus.
We’re half sitting on the dirt with me practically crushing him as the embers surround us like stars.
His eyes shine with a rare darkness beneath the helmet.
He came.
And…he’s not gone.
I sluggishly push at his helmet, and he removes it, tossing it on the ground.
“Preston, can you hear me?” One of his hands is all over my face, and the other is shaking me slightly, the smell of leather jerking me back to the present.
He’s really here?
It takes effort to lift my trembling hand, then I run my fingers through his damp, dark strands and inhale him. Leather and fucked-up intoxication.
Oh.
I can breathe.
The water has disappeared, the static has dulled, and I’m just…not floating anymore.
Is it possible not to float?
“Preston?” he asks, studying me closely, and I’m watching his glistening lips as they move.
He needs to speak some more. But he doesn’t. He just sits on the dirt, his chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes locked on mine.
“You’re here…” I slur, and it’s barely audible.
“I’m here.”
It’s real. I can touch him. He’s not part of the noise or the static or the fucked-up corners of my head.
“I’m here, too,” I whisper.
“You are.”
“Right?” My pulse trips over itself, my mouth dry, my ribs aching as pressure builds in that useless organ that’s pumping blood into my veins.
He moves closer, and the space between us folds, just sort of vanishing into thin air. Why the fuck was I okay with him disappearing on me for weeks?
“You’re drunk, Preston.”
