“WHERE’S YOUR SECURITY DETAIL?”
Scowling at Ben’s greeting, I drop my textbooks loudly onto the table he and Kate occupy—narrowly avoiding crushing his fingers and earning a glare from the librarian—and flop into the seat beside Kate.
It’s not my young friend’s words that bother me; it’s his smirk.
His fake smirk.
All week, he’s been playing up to his role as the comedian of the group, trying to lighten the heavy mood for my benefit but it’s so unbelievably forced. His smile never reaches his eyes, his weak jokes fall flat, and his voice freaking trembles with stifled tears as he tries to pull a laugh out of everyone. Everything about him is lackluster compared to usual, and out of everything that has happened as a result of last week’s shit show, that gets me the most; if I managed to suck the life out of him then things must really be screwed up.
“Ditched them after class,” I answer Ben’s earlier question with an annoyed sigh. ‘Ditched’ is an understatement. ‘A mad dash for freedom’ would be more accurate.
The run from lecture hall to library winded me something awful but it was worth escaping out from under the thumb of my very large, very conspicuous, very annoying newfound bodyguards. Between the two of them, Cass and Nick haven’t allowed me a moment alone since that godawful night that has everyone treating me like a bomb about to go off, since they tag-teamed dragging me to the hospital despite my protests. As I suspected, I was completely fine, but that did nothing to dull their overprotectiveness.
Nick is bearable. Irritating but bearable. His ‘protection’ comes in the form of squared shoulders and a hand glued to the small of my back as he escorts me around the place, shooting hard looks at anyone who dares bump into me. And ordinarily, that would be fine. Welcomed, even.
If he wasn’t touching me like he’s afraid I’ll shatter.
If that wasn’t his only way of touching me.
It’s not fair, him getting me attached to his attention, him swaying me to the dark side of public displays of affection, only to snatch it away so suddenly.
The real problem, however, is my brother.
Cass has taken on the role of guard-dog, and he never lets it drop. I feel like I’m in fucking WITSEC when he’s around—get the man some dark sunglasses and an ear piece and he could pass as a Secret Service agent. I don’t think I’ve had a normal conversation with him all week; everything revolves around whether I’m feeling okay, if my head hurts, if I’ve thought more about reporting him, the latter of which I always have the same damn answer.
No.
I can’t, and I don’t get why no one understands my reasoning.
If doing fucking nothing provokes him into attacking me, I don’t want to know what would happen if I actually made a move against him. I don’t want to know what his friends would do. And I certainly don’t want to know everyone in this damn town’s opinion on the matter—God knows they’d have one once they found out, which they would.
I already fled one home in a quest to not be the local subject of pity. I can’t do it again.
All I want is some normality. A life that doesn’t revolve around fear or worry or goddamn secrets—to add insult to injury, telling Cass about Nick has been abruptly shoved to the backburner because I am one hundred percent sure the aggression he’s feeling towards my ex-boyfriend would end up being taken out on my current one and I’ve had enough gore for one week.
I’ve had enough for one week. Enough for a fucking lifetime, actually.
I haven’t slept properly. Haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t practically shoved down my throat. My life revolves around college and work because those are the only times my mind is busy enough to semi-forget the raging storm of shit around me, the brief few hours I can ignore the poorly concealed gazes filled with pity.
“I can’t do this shit anymore,” I groan, cradling my aching head in my hands. “I am actually losing my fucking mind.”
Kate rubs my back soothingly but lightly, barely touching me because apparently, I’m fucking radioactive these days. “They’re trying to help.”
I snort loudly, digging my knuckles into my eyes until I see stars instead of sad eyes. “I don’t need help. I need some space to breathe.”
Slumping back in my seat, I flick my hair out of my face for a split second until I remember the ugly bruise on my cheek and quickly let my curls fall forward again before it catches anyone’s eye. If there’s anything worse than my friends’ dejected looks when their eyes land on the mark, it’s the curious, slightly judgemental looks I get from everyone else.
With a sigh, I redirect my attention to the mound of homework beckoning me, intent on using it as a distraction from Ben eyeing me cautiously and Kate biting her lip in the way she always does when she’s trying to keep her mouth shut.
She doesn’t try very hard.
“You know they’d probably loosen up if you stopped this whole act.”
Through gritted teeth, I ask, “What act?”
A shrewd expression accompanies Kate’s exasperated tone as she waves her hands in the air. “This whole ‘I’m fine’ bullshit.”
“I am fine!” I have to be fine.
“Amelia, you were attacked.” Kate’s whisper is too loud, too honest, too much, making me flinch and glance over my shoulder to check no one overheard. “You can’t pretend like everything is normal.”
“No, I can’t, because I have six fucking reminders hovering over me every hour of every day.” With an hungry huff, I shove my books back in my bag.
Peace and quiet.
That’s all I wanted.
Kate and Ben’s pleas for me to stay are drowned out by the screeching sound of my chair scraping against the floor as I stand up. No matter what I do, no matter how much I insist I’m fine, everything always revolves around that night, around him. It’s not enough that I had to live through it; I have to fucking relive it too.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I lean closer to Kate and Ben in an attempt to gain some semblance of privacy in the very public space in which Kate’s chosen to start up this conversation again. “What happened isn’t the problem.” I have to fight to keep my voice lowered, hands shaking because I’m frustrated and done. “All of you suffocating me is.”
I don’t wait for either of their replies before storming out of the library, barely resisting the urge to slam the hefty doors behind me. I hurtle outside, desperate for some fresh air to make me feel less trapped. Closing my eyes, I exhale a breath of pure exhaustion and let the cool air ease away some of the tension, wrapping my arms around myself and wishing they were someone else’s.
Tiring.
This week has been so fucking tiring.
Keeping up a smile in an attempt to stop all the fussing. Putting up with said never-ending fussing and feeling guilty for not appreciating the fact that it means I’m loved. Pretending like it doesn’t kill me to watch my friends walk on eggshells around me and treat me like I’m broken.
Someone bumps into me but I take no notice, not until a hand settles on my shoulder and I flinch away automatically, eyes flying wide open. The instinctive fear is quick to dissipate, though. Anger bubbles up in its place when I find golden eyes glinting with ever-present concern.
“God,” I huff before he even has a chance to open his mouth, “of course you’re here right now. Who snitched, Kate or Ben? No wait, let me guess, you guys went ahead and put a fucking tracker in my phone. Do you want me to wait here while you call Cass or would you prefer to trail twenty feet behind me like a real stalker?”
“Querida…” Nick reaches for me but stops halfway, second guessing himself like he has been all fucking week, making me want to scream at the top of my lungs because maybe that’s the only way someone will listen to me.
But I don’t.
I keep my voice low and steady as I slap his hovering hands away. “No, don’t querida me.” He doesn’t get to dodge my affection all week and then whip out the cutesy nicknames. “Ben can’t even look at me without tearing up, Kate and Jackson tiptoe around like the slightest movement will set me off, Luna and Cass are probably going to be convicted for murder and end up in fucking jail. And you.” I stab a finger at his chest, following the movement visually because if I look anywhere else, there will be tears and I’m sick of crying. “My own boyfriend won’t even fucking kiss me. You barely look at me. I get it, I’m damaged goods and you didn’t sign up for all the baggage but fuck-“
Soft warm lips connecting to mine cut me off mid-sentence.
Instinctively, I melt into him, a soft sigh escaping me as his hands find my hips, until my mind catches up with my actions and I jerk my head back. “You can’t do that,” I hiss yet I make no effort to move away, enjoying the comfort I’ve been seeking for days too much to give a shit about anything else. “I’m mad at you.”
Nick’s smile is rueful, fingertips grazing my neck as he smooths my hair away from my face. “I know,” he says quietly, breath tickling my cheek as he kisses the bruised skin gently, wearing an honest, truly apologetic expression. “You’re not damaged, Amelia, and I’m sorry I made you feel like that. But,” I reel back, narrowing my eyes at the sudden twinkle in his eyes, “can you be mad at me in the car? We’re late.”
“Where are we going?” I ask for the hundredth time, struggling to keep the childish whine from my voice.
Nick’s only reply is a sly grin and a kiss brushed against my knuckles, the same as it has been for as long as we’ve been driving. For the first hour, I hounded him relentlessly like an impatient child, even resorting to begging. When that didn’t work, I gave up, sulking silently and scouring the road signs whizzing past us for hints. When the sun began to set and darkness engulfed everything in sight, I forfeited all efforts and nodded off, soothed by the warm hand in mine even if I was annoyed as hell at the owner.
Now, however, I’m wide awake and ready for interrogation round two.
“Nick.” I tug on his hand to get his attention.
He takes his eyes off the road for a split second. “Yes, meu amor?”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.” Not entirely true—more like I’ve had enough surprises to last me a while.
Unperturbed, Nick’s lips curl at the edges, giving me a perfect view of those damn dimples that almost make me forget anything else. “You’ll like this one.”
With a huff, I slump in my seat, ripping my hand from his so I can cross my arms over my chest, and Nick only chuckles, settling a hand on my thigh. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes pass, our silence only broken by the crackle of music coming from the radio.
I hate to admit it but I feel more settled than I have all week. Yeah, I’m still annoyed at Nick for his recent distant behavior and his current secretive kidnapping act, and confused about the sudden total attitude change, but I can’t deny that being around him, alone with him at last, has me feeling calm as hell.
Silently cursing my lack of control, I rest my hand on top of his, letting him twine our fingers together. The comforting motion of his thumb stroking my hand has me drifting off to sleep again, head lolling against the window. I don’t even notice the cars come to a halt until Nick murmurs, “We’re here.”
Blinking rapidly to clear the sleepy haze, I lean forward to squint out the windscreen, eager to discover where they hell Nick has taken me. A quaint building looms before us, illuminated by the soft glow of porch lights, a sign hanging over the door. Monterey Bay Inn.
“Monterey?” God, no wonder it felt like we were driving forever; driving here is almost equivalent to our road trips back home for the holidays. “What’re we doing here?” Confused, I shift in my seat to face Nick only to find him already gazing at me.
“I know I’ve been distant this week,” he starts, hand holding mine tightly, “and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and I was trying to give you space. But I realize that was the wrong call so…” Trailing off, he gestures at the building before us. “Here’s Plan B.”
Before explaining further, Nick hops out of the truck and darts around to wrench my door open, unbuckling my seatbelt and lifting me out. Fingers nervously fidgeting with the ends of my hair, he blurts out in a single rushed breath, “You’re not fine, Amelia. You’re hurt but I think you’re too scared to be or you don’t want people to see you like that so I booked a room here for a few days. No one knows you’re here, I told them you went to your dad’s place, so no one’s gonna bother you. If you want, I’ll stay but if you wanna be alone, that’s okay too. I’ll go home and collect you at the end of the week. It’s completely up to you but I think you need to stay and just hurt for a little.”
Silence follows Nick’s lengthy speech, a silence I’m incapable of piercing because I can’t do anything but stare at him, stunned.
He…
He’s right.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.
God, I’m so damn sick of crying but my body has yet to get the memo because here I am, teary-eyed, nose burning, swallowing down yet another lump in my throat.
Peace and quiet is what I’ve been begging for all week, and peace and quiet is what he’s given me.
All of my annoyance, my frustration, everything suffocating me is suddenly wiped clear by the salty tang in the air, by the sound of gently lapping waves hidden by the dark, by for a little while, I’m free from heavy gazes and stifling concern.
My heart swells as I glance between Nick and the inn, melting at the sincerity written all over his face. I know without a shadow of a doubt, he’d suffer through another couple of long, lonely road trips without any complaints if it made me happy.
And that’s exactly why I loop my arms around his neck and shrug with false indifference. “I guess you can stay.”
A brilliant, heart-race-increasing beam lights up Nick’s face. Hands slide down my back, leaving warm sparks in their wake, and dip into the back pockets of my jeans, urging me closer. “Thank fuck.”
For the second time today, I’m cut off by lips meeting mine. Nick swallows my impending laughter, kissing me with less caution, as though he’s been longing for me this past week as much as I’ve been for him.
Every part of me relaxes into him. I swear my whole body sighs in relief as though it knows I’m safe and secure and something else that I don’t let my mind settle on for too long because it’s an emotion that inspires fear in me as much as it does comfort, an emotion that I’m not sure I’m completely ready for.
It helps, though. The way he makes me feel, the way he looks at me, makes everything else fade away and seem insignificant. He helps.
Conflictingly, that fear-mongering emotion in his eyes helps.
