Chapter 16 #2
“Tough. We’re going somewhere that isn't the house, and we’re going to talk like adults—without anyone interrupting us.
” I flick her a brief look before returning my eyes to the road.
“And before you go off on one, you're going to listen to what I have to say. I’m done indulging the bratty act for tonight.”
Most of the time, that bratty edge of hers turns me on; that's why I call her princess, because it winds her up. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m pissed.
Mostly at myself.
I shouldn't have let jealousy get the better of me. Should've told her how stunning she looked the second she walked in, instead of letting it fester. I shouldn't have pulled back when she tried to kiss me, or acted like distance was the answer when all I did was hurt her.
I handled it wrong. Every part of it.
“You've said enough, Elijah.” Her voice doesn't shake, which somehow makes it worse. “I know exactly how you feel about me. And… I appreciate everything you've done. I do.”
My grip tightens on the wheel as she keeps going, each word cutting deeper than the last.
“I have a job now. I’ll save up and find somewhere small when I can. But I can't stay in that house anymore.”
I take the corner too fast, tyres screeching in protest as we spill onto the empty road. A wide, open field stretches beside us, nothing but darkness and wind. Then the rain hits out of nowhere, hammering the windscreen like it's trying to drown the silence between us.
The thought of her leaving sends a wave of panic through me.
“You honestly think I don't like you?”
She starts scratching at her wrist, nails scraping skin, the way she does when she's overwhelmed. I reach for her instinctively, closing my hand over hers. “Don't do that,” I murmur. “You'll hurt yourself.”
She jerks away as if my touch stings. Pulls her arms tight against her body, shutting me out. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
“Please don't touch me,” she says, barely louder than the rain.
The fire she had earlier is gone. No anger. No sarcasm.
There's no way I can let her fall back into the void shell of herself when she first moved in with us.
“Willow,” I say, forcing the words out past the knot in my throat. “I do like you.”
She looks up at me, and the sadness in her eyes makes something vicious turn inward. I want to punch myself for every second I hesitated, every moment I let her doubt herself.
“Don't lie to me,” she croaks out. “You left me hanging last night. I thought you felt the same, and I was wrong. And today I tried to make you admit your feelings by dressing like this,” she points to her outfit. “But it all backfired. Lesson learned.”
She swallows, shoulders squaring like she's bracing for impact. “I’ll back off. But my feelings are real. They don't happen easily for me, and I’m not staying somewhere I feel stupid for having them. I’ll find somewhere else to live.”
“No.”
“Stop the car, please.”
The confession hits harder than any accusation. I shift in my seat, stunned, because I didn't expect her to be so honest.
“I’m not stopping. Not until you listen to me.”
“Just stop the car.”
Her lip trembles.
If it were up to me, I’d keep driving forever if it meant keeping her here—but she reaches for the doorknob.
I slam on the brakes.
The car skids slightly as I pull us onto the side of the deserted road, rain lashing down from the clouded sky. I don't even have the time to curse her out before she's already opening the door.
She's so fucking frustrating. Who storms off into the rain in a dress like that, on a quiet road where nobody could hear you scream?
Good thing I’m not some masked murderer looking for his next victim who happens to be a pretty redhead.
I'm out of the car before I can talk myself out of it.
“Where the hell do you think you're going?” I shout after her, rain already soaking my jacket.
She doesn't slow down. “Away from you.”
“The house is miles away. Get in the car instead of stomping off like a child.”
She spins around, anger flashing across her face. “There you go again. Calling me a child.”
“I said like a child,” I snap, then rein myself in. “I don't think you are one. But you didn't even give me a chance to explain.”
She drags her hand through her hair, shoving rain-damp strands back from her face, laughter breaking out, but it's humourless. “You don't have to explain. Why would you even like me? I’m a mess. I’m so much younger than you.” Her eyes drop for a second before lifting again, defiant and wounded all at once. “I look just like her.”
Not once have I thought of Rose when I look at Willow, and she is nothing like her mother.
I’m not letting Rose ruin this. Not now. Not ever. No fucking way.
The other factors don't matter because to me, she's perfect, far from a mess she claims to be and fuck the age gap.
I step toward her, but she throws her hand up, palm out like a barrier. “Don't,” she pleads. “Don't make me get back in that car with you. I can’t—I can’t be around you right now.”
Her voice wobbles, then breaks completely.
“God, I hated you,” she sobs, the words tumbling out like she's been holding them in for weeks.
“I really did. I hated you. And then you showed up, and you were kind.
You didn't give up on me even though you were annoying. You made me laugh when I thought I never would again.” She drags in a shaky breath, rain sliding down her cheeks, blurring the line between tears and water.
“Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to make me like you?”
That's it for me.
Whatever restraint I had left snaps clean in two.
If she won't believe me, I’ll just have to show her.
Damn the rules.
Damn the distance I kept pretending was for her sake when she clearly wants this. Wants us like I do.
I move toward her.
The rain has softened, no longer crashing down and soaking into my clothes. It darkens the fabric of her dress until it moulds to her body as if it were made just for her. Water beads along her collarbones, tracing the curve of her tits.
She looks up at me, wide-eyed and breathless, unsure whether to run or hit me. Her breath stutters, her lips parting slightly, and the space between us feels unbearably thin.
I stop so close I can feel her warmth despite the icy rain.
She opens her mouth, no doubt to tell me to back off, to put space between us again—but I stop her before she can say a thing.
I’ve wanted this.
Wanted her.
And the second our lips meet, I know there's no pretending otherwise anymore.