46. Fallingforyou #2
Hunter’s eyes narrow at Andrew’s grip at my neck, and his laughter dies. “Get your fuckin’ hand off her,” he spits, anger pouring out.
Andrew’s brows raise,
and his eyes slide off me,
head turning sinister slow.
“The fuck you just say to me?”
Hunter’s focus flies to me.
“Baby, he hurtin’ you?
“Nod once. I’ll get you out.”
I try to answer, but I can’t.
Every muscle in Andrew goes rigid as he stares at Hunter. “Talk to her again, an’ I’ll snap your fuckin’ jaw off.”
Hunter growls, teeth flashing feral. “Snap my jaw? Go ahead, ain’t surprised, you abusive piece of shit.
” His finger stabs the air at Andrew, but his wide eyes are fixed on mine.
“You think this punk gives a fuck about you? He’s the one you should be runnin’ from.
Look at you—already got you scared.” He shakes his head, then reaches around Andrew to grab me.
“You ain’t safe with him, Baby. C’mon, I’ll take you—”
Andrew slams him back into the wall, cutting his words in half. Then he spins to me again, catching me at my waist. Confusion carves up his face, eyes darting quick between mine. “Allison, breathe. Talk to me, please. Talk to me. The fuck’s goin’ on?”
I finally choke it out, words scraping my throat. I shake my head so hard I feel it in my teeth. “You weren’t supposed to get out for another six months.”
Andrew’s gaze flies back to Hunter,
eyes cold, dark, and deadly.
The scariest I’ve ever seen his eyes.
“You should walk away. Right now.”
Hunter tilts his head, looking at me as if I’m in denial, as if I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Nah. That was a mistake. You didn’t mean that.
And you—” He gives Andrew a quick scan. “You just her new toy. You ain’t nothin’.
” He leans in a step. “C’mon, tell me. She still do it?
Still lift her hips when she’s comin'?” His grin crawls across his mouth. “Or do you even get her there?”
A cold smile rips into Andrew’s face, born out of blood and rage.“Yeah, keep wonderin’. That’s all you’ll ever get, you sick fuck.”
Hushed giggles surround me.
My face burns as I clock the crowd,
people frozen, girls watching.
Seconds stagger past.
My pulse counts each one.
“Andrew Harding, don't think I don't know about you,” Hunter taunts. “But does she know the truth about you? How much you fuckin’ hate women?” He cocks his head toward me. “Baby, you bother pullin’ this dickhead’s arrest record before lettin’ him this close?”
My stomach churns.
A cold sweat breaks out across my neck.
Andrew slams Hunter into the wall. “You don't know what you're fuckin' talkin' about.”
Hunter's brows raise with half of a laugh. “You sayin' you didn't break a girl's nose? After clockin' her in the face?”
Andrew's fists knot in his shirt, muscles tense, knuckles white, whole body shuddering.
“Go ahead, tell her. Say what you want about me,” he seethes, veins popping in his neck.
“Say I'm crazy, say I'm bad news, violent.
But touch her again? I'll prove you right and drive myself straight to fuckin’ Rahway with all your teeth hangin' from my rearview.”
Terror crawls up my throat, my hands on his bicep, tugging hard. “Andrew, no—he’s not worth it. He’s fuckin’ nothin’.”
“You think you scare me? Go ahead,” Hunter spits. “Show her what kinda man you really are.” He leans into it, chest puffed. “Lying, abusive, sonofabitch, go on.” He holds out his arms. “Hit me.”
Andrew’s fist snaps up and closes around Hunter’s throat, veins ripping up his forearm, shaking with rage.
Hunter starts choking and clawing at Andrew’s hand.
But Andrew isn’t moving. His eyes are black, empty, inhuman, as if he’s imagining what it’d be like to crush bone and collapse windpipe, to feel the fight go slack under his palm.
For one beat,
I swear he’s gonna snap his neck.
Seconds crawl by as I try tearing him away. “Drew, please,” I beg. “This is what he wants. Let him go. Please, let him go. I want to leave.”
Andrew finally rips himself back,
hand shaking.
Hunter gasps, hunched over to find air.
“Allison…” Andrew’s voice is hoarse, trying to keep himself from splitting open. “Grab the bag? Laptop too.”
I’m torn in two.
I don’t want to let go of his arm,
but I need us out, need this over.
My fingers squeeze his bicep once.
Then I peel away and snatch the backpack off the floor, shove the laptop inside with hands that won’t stop fumbling.
Andrew stays rooted,
a wall between me and Hunter.
When I’m done and waiting on the other side of the table, Andrew moves closer, mouth at Hunter’s ear.
I can’t hear what he says over my slamming heartbeat.
But I see Hunter’s face change,
eyes going dark, afraid.
And when Andrew finally steps back,
for a flashing second,
he looks like someone I don’t recognize.
Someone Hunter could’ve been right about, if I didn’t already know he’d do anything to protect me.
The hum of The 1975 fills the Lexus, too soft-spoken.
A nocturnal-aching compared to the place we just left. To the adrenaline rushing through both of us.
Andrew’s chest heaves as if we never left the pool hall, as if he’s still surrounded by Hunter’s threats.
The partition’s up, driver locked away, so the three of us are stranded in a moving box of dark glass—him, me, and Little Death.
Dark streets whip by,
lights flashing across Andrew’s face,
painting his profile in saffron, then shadow.
He’s facing the window,
gazing out into the night,
eyes scrolling past faceless silhouettes,
muscles trembling, even in stillness.
His knee’s bouncing under his hand, as if he’s trying to press the anxiety back into himself.
His other hand’s clutching mine tight,
loosens,
clutches,
knuckles white,
pulse hammering through his grip.
Part of me’s convinced that if he lets go of my hand, the rage will take him, my fear will take me, and we’ll be ripped in half.
The last hour plays out in my mind—
Andrew’s laugh,
lust-struck smiles tossed across the felt,
the new contract signed,
then the forehead kiss to seal it.
Now it’s all been wiped away.
All that’s left is a storm in his jaw,
thunder in our chests,
panic in our lungs.
Everything in him’s shaking.
Everything in me is, too.
My thighs are crushed tight, trying to cage the heat from burning a hole in the seat.
Sweat’s gathering at the back of my neck, slipping down my spine.
And there’s a tremor in my fingers from holding myself back.
The urge to find my clit and spread the heatwave into a climax is only screaming louder.
I’m losing it,
losing it,
and the space between us becomes fatal.
My body’s furiously sobbing—
Give me to him or I’ll fucking perish.
I need him closer,
until I can’t take it anymore.
I peel out of my seat,
gradual at first, then all at once,
climbing across the cabin.
Instantly, his head snaps, eyes leaping from the window and crashing into mine, both hands catching my hips as I sink into his lap.
Under me, his thighs jolt as I straddle him, my knees digging into the leather at his sides.
His breath stutters hot against my cheek.
Then he can’t even look at me. His eyes leave mine, frantic, darting across the cabin as sweat dots his temples.
I hate seeing him like this,
that Hunter got inside his head.
All ten of his fingers are biting into my skin, pulling me closer, closer, daring the night to fucking try pulling me away. As if he’s still fighting off ghosts I can’t see.
His pulse hammers in his neck,
telling him to breathe, Andrew, breathe.
Outside, the city’s winter blur—
bridge lights drowned in fog,
white steam clinging to the glass,
streetlights tinting through.
But inside, in the dark, in the low pulse of the music, his head tips back against the seat, and he finally looks at me, eyes cooling fast from the color of stormwater to deep midnight sea.
No stars. No shore.
And I’m sinking
right into the undertow.
His eyes say I got you.
Mine say I know.
His say Nah. I fuckin’ got you…
Mine say …then don’t let me go.
Everything that comes after
is a dreamlike haze.
One of his hands buries in my hair,
guiding me down,