Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I point a finger at his massive chest. “I know you’re not really Russian. Where are you from anyway? Are you ever going to tell me?”
He’s clearly too amused with this. Far, far too amused. He gives me a straight-faced look that anyone else would find potently scary, and I guess I kind of do, but the impression that he’s holding back a laugh kind of wrecks the whole tough, scary guy, I gut you like a fish if you look at me wrong look. “A little of here, a little of there.”
“Great.” I give him the thumbs up. “Sounds good. That makes everything so clear.”
Darius is getting in the car, so I leave Hans standing on the side of the driveway and slip in behind the wheel. I should have told him to get in on this side since he wasn’t driving when it happened. Maybe sitting here would be better, but he’s already sitting down in the passenger seat.
Hans sidles up, his phone ready. “Okay, one minute. And go.”
At first, nothing happens. We both stare forward. Darius is fine, calm, and breathing normally. He doesn’t turn to me but speaks to the dashboard. “I sometimes feel like I was the collateral damage in that accident.” My heart lurches and weeps. I don’t know what that means. But I’m scared to ask. Because he’s been alone here forever after that? Because his family has forgotten him? He reaches and slides his seatbelt over himself and clicks it into place. I want to take his hand, but I don’t. Like a cruel trick, the click of that buckle is what does it. His forehead becomes dotted with little beads of sweat. His breathing starts out slow because he’s controlling and holding it, but then, soon, he’s gasping and dragging in huge gulps.
Fuck, is this what a panic attack looks like?
I turn in my seat and put my hand on his shoulder. He feels like a thousand degrees through his button-down dress shirt. “Whoa. Whoa, we’re not going anywhere. I don’t have the keys. We’re safe. Darius, look at me.” He doesn’t. He keeps his eyes totally screwed shut, and his hands clench tightly into fists. He’s so afraid. I can’t imagine what’s going on in his head. Maybe it’s not fear. But it’s definitely painful for him, and I’m the one who caused this because I had this stupid, stupid idea that it would help. My nose prickles with tears that I don’t deserve to cry. “Darius. Can you look at me?”
“You still have thirty seconds left.”
“Great, Hans, thanks so much,” I groan. But then, I set my hand on Darius’ knee. His muscles are clenched up so tight that he’s like iron under my grip. “We’re half done, and nothing has happened. Tell me what’s going on in your head. I know it must suck in there. Or look at me. You don’t have to go there. You can stay here with me. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
“You should give him barf bag now,” Hans advises.
“No. He’s not going to puke.” Oh fuck, it totally looks like he’s going to puke.
Then, the timer goes off on Hans’ phone—some spaceship noise that scares the hell out of me and nearly sends Darius through the non-existent roof of the car. Reaching over, I undo his seatbelt, and as soon as it retracts, he shoves the car door open and practically falls out. Hans grabs his shoulders and rights him like it’s nothing before putting him on a path back to the house.
I’m numb in the driver’s seat. There are too many emotions to process right now, so maybe it’s best not to pick any of them apart.
After just a few steps, Darius stops walking and just stands there. I don’t want to sit here with the sinking feeling, knowing I’ve just put him through hell, so I throw open the driver’s door and run until I’m standing in front of him. I snatch his hand, which is frigid now. His face is ashen, and he still looks like he might throw up. “I’m so sorry.” I meet his eyes, even though it’s hard. “Darius, I’m…I thought it would help. I wasn’t trying to make you go back there. I just…the car wasn’t moving, and it didn’t have a roof. I thought…I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t even have to be in one to relive that night, do you?”
His jaw clenches, and he tries to withdraw his hand, but I hold on. “No.” He’s not looking at me anymore. “I don’t.”
“I’m not a therapist. I’m a dummy. I’m truly sorry. I had this idea, and I thought…but I’m—”
“It was a good idea.”
“What?”
His eyes are back on mine, and some of his color is back. He doesn’t look like that terrible mix of gray, white, and green anymore. They’re all good colors, but not in a person. “I’ve been running from this shit for years. Hans has to sedate me if he ever needs to take me in a vehicle. I missed my own wedding partly because my brother is a bastard and a plotter but mostly because I didn’t get there in time, seeing as I couldn’t get in a damn car. It’s insane.”