Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
My stomach flips at the thought. I cross my arms over my midsection like that will help keep me from trembling.
What am I thinking? He wouldn’t kick me out of the Jeep in the middle of an otherwise empty road, right? Not Ren. He would never put me in jeopardy.
I can’t believe I’m entertaining the thought.
But then, I can hardly believe any of this is happening. It still feels like a dream. Sometimes it’s good—very good. Happy and hopeful, like we’re connected completely. The way it used to feel. No matter how many people in the world refused to truly see or understand me, I could count on Ren. He never expected me to be anyone other than myself. I could simply look at him and know he understood; no words were needed.
Those memories cast the current situation in greater contrast and make it more evident than ever that something is very wrong, that I might as well be sitting beside a stranger wearing Ren’s skin.
I almost wish I didn’t remember the happier times so clearly since I only end up feeling more lost and confused as things worsen. No, I can’t let go of the memories. I need to cling to them tighter than ever when I’m so nervous about what might be coming next.
They’re all that’s keeping me in one piece.
If he would only turn on the radio. Riding in silence makes things worse. It draws the tension out until I’m afraid I might scream if only to break it. That scream is building in my chest, working its way into my throat. I press my lips together hard until they hurt.
I’m losing it, aren’t I?
Dad’s voice rings out in my head, the last I’d expect but the one I need to hear the most. Stop this. You’re a Rossi!
Yes. He’s—I’m—right. I can handle tension. How many tense, even dangerous, situations have I lived through? Sure, Dad always did his best to keep Mom, Adela, and me away from that part of his life, but it was impossible not to catch a hint of trouble when something bad was going down. I know what it means to suck it up and roll with the punches.
This is different from those days.
And it doesn’t take me long to figure out why.
It isn’t that I don’t trust Ren. Not really.
But I trusted my father a lot more. Because Dad never had these crazy mood swings. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. I think I would’ve picked up on that over the years. Would he lose his temper when things didn’t go the way he needed? Sure. Did we know better than to bother him with anything trivial when he was in the middle of something important? Most definitely.
He was never unstable, though, and that’s the difference. Even after my sister’s death, my father never lost his temper with us. As much as I love Ren, I can’t pretend he’s thinking clearly.
Which, considering I have no idea exactly where we’re going or why, doesn’t bode well. Who could blame me for worrying?
He would never hurt me. Not ever.
Sure, but that’s the version of Ren who was never sick or injured or whatever made him the way he is now. Ready to snap at the slightest provocation. A man in that condition can’t be trusted to do what needs doing.
There’s a reason my dad would only let certain people into his inner circle. Why he’d keep information from some people and not others. It wasn’t personal. It was a matter of whether he could trust them not to do anything irresponsible, like going off half-cocked and making decisions without his say-so.
I steal a glance at Ren from the corner of my eye. He’s laser-focused, almost leaning over the wheel, gripping it tight. His sharp jaw is clenched, his nostrils flared, and every breath entering his body is heavy.
If I reached out and touched a finger to his arm, I have no doubt a spark would ignite. He’s electric, a second away from an explosion. That intensity is good when the subject is me, my body, and our shared desire.
When he’s driving me to the middle of nowhere? Not so much.
Twenty minutes pass, and he turns down a narrow road that seemingly popped up out of nowhere. No signs indicate its presence, no lights, nothing. His gaze remains straight ahead, driven, on course. He drives without hesitation like everything is exactly the way he expected.
It’s another few minutes before he slows our progress to something closer to a crawl. I can’t help but glance up at the sky, noting the way the light drains with each second that passes. He was supposed to make dinner, wasn’t he? At this rate, it’ll be closer to bedtime before we return to the cabin.
I don’t think he cares. He’s too busy staring through the windshield, his head moving back and forth like he’s sweeping the area for signs of something or another. “Do you need me to look out for anything?” I ask.