Chapter 17 Sonya
SONYA
I’m expecting Hughes to keep cracking jokes, but now we’re in the car and he hasn’t said another one. Maybe he’s building up to them, and that’s why he keeps glancing over at me. Looking for the perfect chance to say something he thinks is funny.
Even though, I’m clearly not in the mood.
Normally, I wouldn’t even be here to listen to them, but he threatened to call Quinn and tell him what happened to me if I tried heading home alone. On top of calling me Mrs. Hughes over and over.
“This is an abduction,” I warn him, “and I will press charges.”
“Sounds fun, Sonya.”
“Are you delusional?”
He nods enthusiastically.
I twist to look out the window, ignoring him but also trying to forget what happened when we were leaving the hospital. The hospital’s client relations director ambushed us.
She wanted to make sure our experience was exemplary (her words) and wondered if we wanted a tour of the upgrades Hughes’ donations to the hospital are making possible…to some Jesse Osler wing?
I waited for the self-aggrandizing hockey captain to puff out his chest and nod. Instead his face contorted, he apologized to the director, and said we were in a hurry and that he’d come back another time.
She didn’t seem convinced that he would, making me think he’s dodged the invitation before.
“Hey, Sonya? Seriously, I’m sorry about the whole husband thing again. If you want me to figure out how to fix it…”
“No.” I don’t look at him, more tired than angry now.
Though, I should still be pissed, because he did it again.
He charmed the room as if life is a game, playing Madame Kozlova like a fiddle, and claiming me as his wife like the word holds no weight. As if consequences are something you doodle in the sand at low tide with some swirly font.
“You want to make it up to me? Take me home,” I order. So much has happened today, and I need to be alone to process it all.
“So, you want me inside your place?”
I swivel in his direction.The thought of him snooping around my apartment for the next twenty-four hours… “What? No, I don’t need you around. I’m strong.”
“The absolute strongest.”
“That’s not—” I groan. “Ugh, don’t patronize me.”
“I swear I’m not. I agree.” He lowers the visor, because sun is pouring its last hurrah through the windshield, illuminating half his face into a fiery landing strip.
We backed out of the hospital parking lot and pulled onto the street.
The gearshift changes under his big palm.
“You’re one the strongest people I know. ”
My throat tightens. How much does he think he knows about me?
Hughes’ eyes don’t leave the road as he rakes a hand through his hair.
“You know…” His voice shifts. It’s gone deeper and quieter. “I bet you’d rather collapse on the floor of your apartment, alone and concussed, than ask for help.”
My heartbeat stumbles. Okay, fine. I guess he understands that part of me. A pretty big part. But where is he going with this?
“I don’t know how you decided to call me today, but I’m grateful you did. Because I’m here now. And call it an obligation to Quinn or whatever you want, but I’m not leaving you unmonitored.”
The car slows to a stop at a red light.
I grab the side of the door. “Listen. I have things to do.”
“Both of us do. But—” He finally makes eye contact, his blue eyes growing somehow even more serious. “I’m not asking. We’ll either go to my place or yours for the night.” His gaze drops to my hand. “And if you try jumping out right now, I’ll get out of the car and carry you back inside.”
Blood drums in my ears. Imagining that? Why am I battling a shiver? I should feel hot outrage, because how dare he?!
The thing is, I know he’s not bluffing.
This man is unhinged. He has no limits. Even now, the light has turned green, cars are starting to honk behind us, and he hasn’t moved.
I wave my hand in the air, hissing, “Go!”
He smiles, satisfied. We start driving again.
“God.” I tip back my head.
“God? My name’s Adrian. But you’re welcome to call me God whenever you want, darling!”
I groan, ignoring the return of his blatant cockiness. Though some part of me might also be glad for it, because this version of Hughes I understand. It’s the one I’m used to. The one I can predict. That other version?
The one whose face went tight the second he burst into my hospital room and saw me, who didn’t hold back, asking questions like, “Who did this to you, darling?” and the one who read through my concussion care instructions while his car warmed up, three times…
I scrub at my face.
“I hate this…” I bite out miserably.
“That’s unfortunate, Sonya.” He nods his head and sympathizes.
Then says, “Anyway, where are we going? My place or yours? Or should I book a hotel for us somewhere expensive? Did you know there’s this hotel in the city where you can sleep in the middle of a swimming pool?
Imagine that. Waking up. Taking a dip. It’s the best of both worlds—”
“Do you ever get tired of talking?”
“Nope.”
Oh my God.
Hughes hums. “Now while I would love to drive around in circles, I have a feeling you’ve had a long day. My place or yours?”
I’m squeezing the edge of my seat tight.
“Your place,” I finally huff out.
Here’s the plan. I’ll let him take me to his house, then sneak out later when he’s not looking.
For the rest of the ride, I turn away from him and close my eyes. A clear signal that I don’t want to talk to him. The problem with that is that I’m not sure if I can open them again easily. I underestimated how exhausted I am, between dancing, falling, and being at the hospital.
It doesn’t help that my seat is getting warm, as if a setting has been turned on.
My aching muscles surrender against the cozy heat and more adrenaline seeps away from me.
I’m fighting against yawns and starting to lose sense of my surroundings.
My eyes stay closed, so I don’t know when the car parks.
I think I must be dreaming when my door opens and my seat belt’s unclipped. Or when strong arms carry me into someplace and lower me onto a cloud. The kind of expensive bed that soothes every inch of you.
Only when he tucks me in, it finally dawns on me that this is really happening. Embarrassment seizes my throat.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks.
What am I doing? Did I just let Hughes carry me to bed? I need to get out of here.
My eyes open to find him leaning over me. He’s not wearing his jersey, but what must’ve been underneath it. A half-sleeved white T-shirt revealing defined biceps.
“Do you know who you are, darling?” he asks, scanning my expression, his mouth slightly curved.
“Your worst nightmare,” I say, struggling to move. To get up. The covers are so heavy and soft.
That earns me a bigger smile. “Any headaches?”
“Only when I think about you.”
Any minute now, I’m out of here. But I’m waiting for him to leave first. Then I can make a clean getaway.
But Hughes keeps asking me concussion-related questions and seems thrilled the snarkier that my answers get, considering the way his eyes light up.
“Okay. You can go now,” I mutter. “I’m…tired. I need…rest. Alone.”
He fluffs my pillow, holding my gaze. “But will you stay?”
My shoulders tense at the implied accusation, even though it’s true. “Yeah, I will.”
No, I won’t.
He leans closer and dips his chin in a nod. “Good. I need you to let me take care of you, Sonya.”
Is there a switch inside him, because it’s been flipped again. His goofiness is gone, and the man standing over me is all business.
“You’re going to stay here where I can look after you, Sonya.”
My chest and back tingle. The tenor of his tone is rich, reinforced steel. Infused with the same intensity he used on me when I wasn’t telling him what hospital I was at. It goes way beyond being bossy.
It makes something tumble inside me that I can’t control. Something that apparently gets worse the longer I look at him.
So I pretend to sleep, clamping my eyes shut and ignoring the guilt trickling inside me over how I’m about to trick him and leave.
Then I wait…and wait some more…
Biding my time and waiting for Hughes to get bored enough to leave the room, and that I realize later is a terrible idea because exhaustion swamps me, and I doze off for real.