11. Josh #3
Her arms were crossed petulantly when I opened the door to the car and slid in.
I handed the bag of items to her, but she ignored me. She stubbornly let it dangle between us until she relented with a huff and grabbed for it, slipping it down into the footwell of her seat.
“You’re welcome,” I chirped, buckling my seatbelt with a click, and pressing the button to start the engine.
She didn’t deign to reply, returning to her watchful observation out the window, arms crossed.
I sighed. I guess it was too much to ask for a simply thank you.
Not that I needed one, honestly. I was happy to provide her with anything I could give her.
And even if it wasn’t in my power to give, I would damn well try.
Her words from earlier echoed in my head, and I stubbornly ignored them, trying to forget how it had made me feel.
I liked providing for Dove, so what? And maybe I was a tad protective, but I’d always been like that.
It didn’t mean I was trying to be… that for her.
“Put your seat belt on,” I reminded her as I backed out of the parking space in front of the store.
There were more businesses on this side of town, including Dell’s and an aging hair salon owned by a woman named Beatrice, who’d stopped cutting just before I left.
Dove’s friend Reverie had worked there before moving to California.
I knew Betty had been sad to see her go, hopeful she would take over the shop one day, but it had always been Rev’s dream to live a metropolitan life.
Bright lights and a bustling city full of celebrities had always won out over dirt roads and a sky full of stars.
I often wondered if Dove had those same aspirations, to leave this small town behind for something bigger and better.
Growing up, we’d talked some of our future, mostly about college and possible future jobs we might want.
But never of leaving, never of any place other than here.
Home . Like this place was a familiar shackle we had no idea how to free ourselves of.
It was part of the reason why my leaving had side blinded her so much because I’d never indicated I wanted to leave before.
Because I never did , I thought. At least, not after she’d entered my life.
I looked over at her, picturing her living in a built-up city, becoming part of something hectic and thriving, too busy moving to stop and see the beauty in anything.
Would anyone stop to appreciate her if she were walking down the street, or would she become just another face in a bustling sea of people?
With the sun shining across her face, highlighting her dark eyelashes, round cheeks, and straight nose, I couldn’t imagine anyone not being starstruck by Dove. She was stunning. Truly gorgeous.
She deserved someone to tell her that every day.
I scowled as my eyes roamed down to see she hadn’t put her seatbelt on. She clearly needed to be told other things, too.
“Seatbelt, Dove,” I repeated as I turned back to the road, even though my eyes longed to stay on her. Not very conductive to driving, though.
She let out an aggravated noise, raising her arms exasperatedly.
“There you go again,” she snapped, her voice thick with frustration. “I’m not some teenager following you around blindly anymore, Josh. I’m a twenty-one-year-old?—”
“ Oh .” I couldn’t stop the roll of my eyes. “So worldly.”
Out of the corner of my eye, she scowled. “As if you’re any better. You’re only three years older than me!”
True, but the urge to be protective over Dove was ever present, despite our minimal age difference. I didn’t have to be older to feel older, like it was my duty, my responsibility, to watch over her and keep her safe. I would always feel that way, no matter how many miles separated us.
When I glanced back to her, the fire in her eyes was completely different than the kind that had burned in them last night.
This time the intensity behind them was fueled by anger.
Despite that, they still gave off the same heat.
I forced my eyes back to the road, shifting in my seat. Now was not the time for that.
A curse fell from my lips as I stomped on the break, narrowly missing the truck that had flown out in front of me.
I reacted on pure instinct, my only thought Dove. I flung my arm out to catch her across the chest before she could fly forward and hit her head off anything.
“ Reckless idiots ,” I hissed. “That fucking stop sign is there for a reason.”
I turned to Dove and said pointedly, “This is why I told you to put?—”
But I wasn’t greeted by Dove’s annoyed face, or the roll of her eyes. Instead, her eyes were wide and unseeing, and her breathing came shallow, quickening with each exhalation. The faraway, fearful look on her face scared the crap out of me.
I slid my arm from her front, flipping the hazard lights on and shifting into park, not caring that I’d stopped in the middle of the road.
“Dove?” I twisted so I could look her over. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Her focus remained forward, on the road, as if I hadn’t said anything at all.
My heart clench as I realized what was going on, remembering what she’d told me long ago; about her dad’s death, and how she’d been in the car with him that day when it happened.
I wasn’t an expert, but I could imagine the abruptness of the car stopping and the screech of the breaks might have triggered her post traumatic stress disorder, something she’d been struggling with since she was a little girl.
I’d never seen Dove like this before, so I wasn’t exactly sure what I was supposed to do, but I’d damn well let her know I was here to help her through it.
“Hey,” I softened my voice. When that did nothing to capture her attention, I tentatively placed my hand on her knee.
The skin there was warm and bare, thanks to the shorts she decided to wear, the same pair that had been torturing me since I’d been back.
But that was the last thing on my mind. The only thing I could think about was getting that terrified look off her face.
“Dove.” I squeezed her knee. It was a small success when her watery gaze finally shifted down, focusing on where my hand rested along her leg.
“We’re okay. You’re okay,” I murmured, trying to soothe her fear. “Just some asshole who doesn’t understand traffic laws.”
Slowly, so slowly, the color started to come back to her face. She licked at her dry lips, blinking, as if she was finally realizing where she was.
“I—” Her husky voice cracked. I wished I had a water bottle to offer her.
A car honked obnoxiously behind me, and I glared through the rearview mirror as if it would deter them from their impatient road rage.
I gave her leg one final, firm squeeze. “You okay?”
She nodded slowly.
Unwilling to stop touching her, I leaned over to grab her seatbelt with my other hand, fighting the urge to brush my lips across hers as the proximity brought us even closer.
Once I had her buckled in, I leaned back into my seat and shifted into drive, accelerating slowly.
A few seconds passed before I reluctantly slipped my hand from her knee to turn off the hazards.
I mourned the loss of the touch, but not for long—she caught my retreating hand and held it, curling her fingers over mine, placing it back where it had been.
Her hand was warm where it rested on mine, and I didn’t think it could feel any better, that is until she maneuvered her hand so she could thread our fingers together.
My heart clamored instead my chest, and the urge to turn my head and gape at her was strong, but I kept my eyes forward, my attention on the road, not wanting any more incidents like before.
When the urge grew to strong, I risked a glance, only to find her gaze focused on me instead of out the window, with a subtle, tentative smile curled on her lips.