Chapter 13
Thirteen
Gray
She’s quiet from the passenger seat, but I don’t miss the tension filling her frame, ratcheting tighter and tighter as I navigate us closer to our street.
And, damn.
I should have thought of this.
I pause at the stop sign and consider my next move.
Then know I need to keep driving.
Because I think not seeing her house, not knowing what she’s lost and what’s still left is going to be worse than facing this head-on.
Her shoulders go stiffer and her hands clench together.
“Breathe, Red,” I murmur, reaching over the console and snagging one small hand, loosening her fist, lacing my fingers with hers.
She exhales and it’s shaky again, as shaky as it had been back at the hospital when those plump lips of her parted, the tip of her pink tongue sliding out to moisten them, turning them slick and damp and…tempting.
I would have tasted her had the doctor not interrupted.
I want to taste her now.
A horn beeps behind me and my gaze jerks to the rearview, seeing the car behind me, impatiently waiting.
Probably because I’ve turned a stop sign into a stop light.
One that hasn’t turned green.
I exhale and wrench myself back into focus.
Then I squeeze her hand again and start forward, rolling through the intersection and eventually—after two more turns—making it onto our street.
The fire is completely out, but if it’s anything like yesterday, the smell of smoke will be lingering in the air. And since the sky is clear of any clouds, the sun bright and shining, the charred remains of Faye’s home will be far too easy to spot.
Case in point?
She sucks in a breath as I turn into my driveway, her gaze pointed through the passenger side window, her body stiff and her jaw clenched.
Her fingers tighten around mine, hard enough to send a bolt of pain through my hand, but I don’t say a word.
“I talked to the fire crew yesterday,” I say softly.
“They need to have an inspector come out and clear the structure before you can go in, but they think it’ll only take another day or two. ”
“Okay,” she whispers, her hand still clutching mine. “Thanks.”
But her gaze is still pointed out the window.
And her voice…
“Red,” I murmur.
She jerks, head whipping toward me, eyes distant when they connect with mine.
I can practically see her building a wall around herself, slapping together brick and mortar in rapid movements.
Shutting herself away from me.
“Can I borrow your phone?” she asks, tugging at her hand.
I frown, don’t release her fingers. “Yeah,” I say. “We’ll go inside, get you somewhere comfortable and you can make as many calls as you need.”
“Great.” Another tug. “Thanks.”
I smooth my thumb over her silken skin. “You okay?”
“Yup.”
Short. Clipped out. Her shoulders hunching ever so slightly.
Of course she’s not okay.
“I need to make those calls,” she says, pulling at my hold again.
Something about the way she’s avoiding my eyes as she tugs has me asking, “Who do need to call?”
Another hunch of her shoulders but when she turns to look at me, her pretty brown eyes spark with irritation. “Does it matter?”
“That answer tells me it matters a whole lot, Red.”
Her lips press flat.
I lift my eyebrows.
Her nose wrinkles—and fuck, that’s cute, so cute I want to lean forward and kiss the freckled bridge.
I don’t, though.
I just wait.
And eventually, she sighs. “I need to call a taxi.” Her chin lifts. “And book a hotel room.”
My brows drag together. “Why?”
She jerks her chin at the charred remains of her house. “I need somewhere to sleep, Gray.”
The hint of sass in her tone has my dick twitching. “You’re staying here, Red.”
Her lips part on a shaky exhale, one that has me leaning a little closer, wanting to feel that puff of air on my skin, on my tongue. “I-I can’t stay here,” she whispers.
“Why not?”
“You’ve already done—”
“Enough?” I finish when she doesn’t.
“Yes!” She tugs again and this time with so much ferocity that I think she’s going to hurt herself.
So, I release her.
Then curse softly when her arm flies back and her elbow cracks against the opposite door.
“Easy, Red,” I murmur, guilt rippling through me.
Why am I fighting so hard to keep her near when the smartest thing—the safest thing—is to let her go?
She’s gone still, clutching her arm to her chest and I move again, reaching for her, this time to capture her elbow and gently run my fingers over the abused spot.
“Just take a breath, yeah?” I say when she remains like that statue, so damned still I need to know she’s breathing, that the wall she’s erecting around herself isn’t complete.
Isn’t so thick yet that I can’t break through.
And…yup.
This is so totally fucked.
But right now I don’t care. I just need her to stay.
“You just got out of the hospital,” I go on gently. “You need somewhere safe to recuperate.”
“A hotel is safe.”
Soft and sweet Faye, who’s hardly spoken five sentences to me in four years since I moved in next door is stubborn.
I snatch at the information, hold it tight like Gollum and his ring.
My precious.
Then I focus on the task at hand. “Please, Faye,” I say, still gently, “don’t fight me on this.”
“I have to.” It’s a whisper.
I tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “Why, baby?”
“I can’t do it.”
“Can’t do what?”
A shudder, her chin dropping forward, her voice going so quiet I can barely hear it. “I can’t get used to it.” Then she adds before I can push further, “I can’t get used to not being alone.”
It’s another piece of her.
A heartbreaking one.
My lungs seize. “Aw, Red,” I murmur.
Her head snaps up, eyes flying open, and it’s impossible to miss the regret written into the lines of her face.
Regret for having shared that.
“I’ll stay,” she murmurs. “But just for a few days.”
“Red—”
But before I get more than that out, there’s a knock on Faye’s window.