Chapter 13Hazel
13
Hazel
“ C an you please slow down?” I brace the dash with one hand and grip the ceiling handle with the other, bracing myself in my seat.
David’s eyes cut briefly to me before fixing back on the road. “I’m trying to get us out of there.”
“Yeah, well I’d like to do it in one piece,” I shout.
“In case you didn’t notice, we were being shot at,” David doesn’t raise his voice like me. He’s acting like this is a normal occurrence for him. Maybe it is.
“Really? I hadn’t realized,” I yell, sarcasm dripping from my voice. David cuts a sharp corner and my body slams into the door.
“Jesus!” I yell. “You’re going to kill us!”
“We were going to die back there if I didn’t haul ass to get us out,” David hisses through gritted teeth. He glances over his shoulder. “At least they aren’t following us.”
“Well, the police you’re always trying to avoid certainly will be if you don’t slow down.”
David’s entire face is a sculpted scowl. “I know what I’m doing.”
He burns through a yellow light just as it switches to red. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth and glance over my shoulder but there’s nothing of significance through the back window.
He’s right, it doesn’t look like our assailants are hot on our tracks, but still. David’s driving skills in a crisis leave little to be desired.
Once he turns down another side street, he finally slows down.
I sink into the seat, my tense muscles uncoiling. “Thank God. ”
David looks at me, barking out a bitter laugh. “You know, a thank you to me wouldn’t hurt either.”
I gawk at him, unblinking. “Are you joking?’
The gray in his eye’s fractures into coal. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”
I clench my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. “Barely.”
David licks his lips, his hands tracking tunnels through his hair. His eyes flick over to me for a moment before settling back on the road. He switches on the blinker before he makes a right turn.
“Oh, now you adhere to traffic laws.” I cut him a glare.
“It was a life-or-death situation,” David says. “What are you not understanding?”
“I’m not understanding why you would put me in danger like that.” My voice pitches and cracks, betraying my fear.
“You agreed to come,” David defends.
“Only because you made it seem like I’d be safe. You told me you would protect me.” I know I’m spiraling, but my anger is gaining momentum, and I can’t stop myself.
“I know you aren’t used to getting screamed at by a hysterical woman,” I say, “but I think the situation warrants it.” Part of me can’t blame him for narrowing his eyes at me. But the other part of me is sizzling with adrenaline, unable to make sense of any rational thoughts.
“I did protect you,” he clarifies, offended.
“Yeah, but those bullets could have landed anywhere,” I counter right back.
“But they didn’t .” The argument continues.
I throw my arms up in the air. “Fine, maybe this isn’t going to work out after all.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s not.” David parks in his designated garage spot by the condo and cuts the engine.
His words cut deep. I don’t know what I am expecting him to say, but it isn’t that. Maybe I assumed he would fight for me, defend me, apologize for what happened tonight. Instead, he’s looking at me as if I’m terrorizing him like an obnoxious sibling might.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice, but I fail, miserably.
A sliver of regret shadows David’s face. His voice is calm now that we’re no longer in imminent danger, but there’s still a bite to his tone. “Look, I’m not trying to offend you or anything but…”
He trails off and I laugh. “That’s exactly what someone says before they offend the person.”
“Just listen,” he says, his eyes pleading.
“Fine.” I cross my arms and stare straight ahead, noticing how clean the garage is. It’s nearly empty, save for a few Tupperware boxes stacked on shelves in the corner.
“Maybe this job isn’t for you,” David says.
I turn my head in his direction. “What job?”
“Any of it. Being around the bratva to get a story. It’s too dangerous for you, and you get too stressed out,” he explains.
I stare at him, jaw hanging open. “I got shot at, and before that, men dragged me into a warehouse and tried to kill me. Excuse me for being a little on edge.”
“I’m not defending what happened to you,” David says. “It was awful, yes, but you can’t handle the danger. That’s all I’m saying.”
“So, what do you suggest, then? You are the one who told me we should get out of the house and go into the field so I can get better research on what you do.”
“Yes, and I am seeing now that it was a mistake. Maybe it’s just not safe for you to shadow me in my job responsibilities.” David looks down at his lap as he says it. “Perhaps you should go back to your boss and tell him you changed your mind, that you want to stick to the smaller stories where there is no risk involved for you.”
Tears sting behind my eyes and my throat is tight, but I bury the emotions as deep as I can, a sniffle escaping in the process. “I can’t do that. Robert would never let me, anyway. Even if he did, I’d never live it down. He would bully me forever.”
“Maybe that’s not a boss you should be working for, then,” David says sharply. “One who bullies you.”
“He just wants things done a certain way,” I say in a monotone voice, still staring at the wall in front of me.
“And so do I,” David replies.
I cut him a glare. “You’re one to talk about getting what you want. It usually ends in gunfire.”
“Yes, but the difference is, You are not working for me.” David’s accent is heavier when he’s trying to be collected. “And I would never bully you.”
“You’re pressuring me to quit,” I say.
David raises his arms by his sides, as if he means no harm. “I’m just trying to speak the truth.”
Sometimes the truth hurts, and I know that, but I feel like he could be doing a better job of trying to keep me around. It’s really like he doesn’t want me here, and that’s confusing, considering how intensely attracted to me he appears to be. Has this all been an act?
“You think I’m a failure. You think I’m the worst journalist in the world who can’t handle the heat.” My voice breaks over the last word and I look away. I can’t bear to look at him. It’s too humiliating.
“I didn’t say that.” His mouth creases into a guilty frown.
“Yeah, but that’s what you’re implying.” I lean my head against the headrest and gaze up at the ceiling.
David exhales a long, slow breath. “You can take my advice or not, but when it comes to the bratva, laws and regulations don’t apply. There will always be a risk involved, no matter the situation.”
I throw the car door open and step out, turning around to face David. He’s still in his seat, blinking up at me as if I’m a bomb that’s about to explode in his face.
Maybe I should hit him where it hurts, to make him regret ever making snide comments to me, for putting me in danger and blaming me when I have a meltdown about it.
“Fine, I’ll just leave, then,” I say.
I slam the car door and march toward the entrance to the condo, tossing it open with such force the knob dings the drywall behind it. I don’t care. I keep plowing forward.
David catches up to me in the bedroom where I’m flinging clothes into my suitcase. He stands in the door frame, his eyes sad and bewildered. “What are you doing?”
Without looking at him, I say, “what does it look like I’m doing?”
“Packing,” he says in a flat tone.
“Wow, you’re a genius.” I stand up and breeze past him on the way to get my toiletries from the bathroom counter.
He stiffens but doesn’t reach out for me. Another dent to my heart. Do I want him to hold me and stroke my hair, or do I want to punch him? I’m so conflicted, and my brain is fuming.
My thoughts race about how I can get back at him, brainstorming ways to dig into his operations and make him crash and burn. He should suffer the way I’m suffering, feeling the scorching heat of betrayal on his perfect skin.
My blood is boiling. I catch him staring at me, his eyes following me everywhere I move. It’s crawling under my skin. I need to get out of here before I incinerate and lose myself in the winds of torment.
“I can’t believe I ever slept with you,” I hiss as I throw my shampoo into the suitcase. I zip it and lug it up, gripping the handle and wheeling it out, heavy and clunky behind me. The wheels click as I roll it.
“You should wait to leave until you are cooled down,” David says, a warning in his tone.
“I think I’m done taking your advice, thank you very much.” I make a beeline for the door. Yes, rational thought is completely lost on me in my current mental state.
“At least let me walk you out,” David insists.
I spin and face him, my eyes blazing. David, who is exposed to gunfire and threats all the time, has a frightened look on his face. Maybe it’s just women he can’t handle.
“I wish you all the best,” I lie, keeping my thoughts to myself about how I’ll be on a warpath for revenge, as soon as I figure out how to do it. “Please don’t follow me out. I need to move on, as you said. You know, do the fluffy, lighthearted stories about nothing and nobody important. Since that’s all I’m good for, after all.” I make sure to look him in the eyes as I throw his own hurtful words right back at him.
David’s eyes crinkle in the corner and his jaw twitches. He opens his mouth, closes it.
My stare is icy. “That’s what I thought.”
I spin around, hair whipping behind me. I walk out the door and toward my car in the first guest parking spot in front of his condo. David doesn’t follow me out, but I feel his watchful gaze imprinting on my soul as I drive away.
By the time I get home and turn on every light, I’m calmer, but adrenaline still has my arms and legs shaking.
I collapse on my bed. Hot tears blur in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I do nothing to wipe them away. I stare up at the ceiling, momentarily hypnotized by the whirl of the fan blades spinning around and around.
I don’t know how long I lay there, sprawled out like a starfish, trying to regulate my breathing and my heartbeat, but it must be a while, because my eyelids get heavy, and wilt closed.
The sound of my phone ringing jars me awake. I’m disoriented, a migraine forming between my temples.
I prop myself on my elbows and blink as my eyes adjust to the light in my bedroom. It’s familiar and cozy, and I sigh with relief.
The tension winds itself back through my spine as I glance down at my phone. David’s number flashes across the screen.
I clench my jaw and after another second of hesitation, I swipe to answer the call.
“What?” I croak, surprised by how exhausted my voice sounds.
“Hazel?” David’s subdued, Russian accent makes my pulse pick up.
“Yes?” I whisper.
“You should come back,” he says.
“To your condo?” Disbelief rakes through my brain.
“Yes. I think it was a mistake for you to leave,” he admits. He sounds tired too.
I sit up straighter now, suspicion crawling through my bones. “Why?”
There are a million reasons I want him to give me. Because I miss you. Because I need you. Because I can’t sleep without you.
“I think we can still work things out,” he says.
I’m only slightly crestfallen. I’m too tired to be anything else right now. All the adrenaline has burned off.
“Professionally?” I ask.
“In whatever way is comfortable for you,” he says, and his voice is genuine.
I blow out a hard breath and rub my palms across my sore and puffy face. “I need to think about it.”
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved earlier,” he says. “I should have been more sensitive to your emotions.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “I’m sorry too.”
“You did nothing wrong,” he says.
“Well, I shouldn’t have yelled and freaked out,” I admit.
“It was a natural response to being shot at,” he says, apology lacing his voice.
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea for me to come back.” I wince when there’s silence on the other end.
David exhales and mutters something in Russian under his breath.
“What did you say?” My teeth nibble at my bottom lip.
“Nothing,” David sighs. “I wish you would reconsider. Just sleep on it and call me in the morning.”
I wait a beat to respond, but tears still flood my eyes when I say it, blurring my already hazy vision. “I think my answer will be the same in the morning. I’m sorry David, I really am, but we just can’t make this work. You said so, yourself.”
I hang up before he has time to retort. I turn off the light without changing or washing my face, and curl up in a ball on my bed, hugging my arms around my chest. I don’t even bother to get under the covers.
I lay like that, crying myself to sleep, but I need to stay strong. David’s words from earlier are embedded in my skull, driving me crazy with doubt and self-loathing. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of journalism and should stick to safer, heartfelt articles. I’ll get an earful from Robert, but facing his wrath is better than facing the barrel of a bratva gun.