Chapter 18
ANNALISE
Brody’s words come to an abrupt halt.
Something sour twists and turns in the air. “Did I say something wrong?” I ask softly.
He won’t look at me. I tell myself that’s because he’s concentrating on driving, but that wouldn’t explain the grip he just had on my thigh. The way he thought to reach for me when I was anxious as if it were a simple instinct despite the road conditions.
I’ve never known a man to have that instinct around me before.
The heat from his palm still burns my thigh. I can feel every indent of his fingertips as if he never removed his hand at all. I’ve never wanted to be manhandled before, but if that was anything like what I could expect from a guy like Brody, maybe I’ve been missing out.
“No. You’ve never done anything wrong to me,” he says.
“Then what’s going on?”
I should tread carefully and not push him to open up, but I can’t help but want to know everything about this man.
Every ideal and personality trait that he’s been hiding.
The things that make him smile and laugh freely.
I want to crack him open and see if he’s as mushy inside as I expect he could be.
That starts with something as simple as this.
“I’m just tired, Anna.”
I nod, fighting the voice in my head that begs me to keep poking. “You work hard. The long hours must be exhausting.”
“You work hard too.” It’s a briskly spoken statement but sincere nonetheless.
“Thank you. One day, I hope to have something to show for it all. A salon of my own, maybe.”
He nods silently, and I finally tear my gaze away from him, staring out the windshield.
Tucking my hands between my thighs, I roll my lips and try not to pay too much attention to the glistening of the half-plowed roads.
I have to get over this fear sometime. It’s not healthy to rely on someone else to take me places.
The lack of food in my fridge from not going shopping is a prime example of that.
Brody doesn’t reply to my statement for the rest of the drive.
Something is going through his head that he doesn’t want to share, and I don’t have any business forcing him to.
Letting someone sit in their feelings has always been something that I’ve struggled with.
It’s hypocritical, considering I like to do the same thing when I’m upset.
Five minutes later, he pulls the truck into the same tire tracks he left behind this morning and shifts it into park. I fidget in my seat, unsure of how to say goodbye. Am I just supposed to hop out without a word?
When he breaks the silence first, I sigh in relief, uncaring if he notices.
“Monday morning?”
“Yep.” I keep my voice steady so he can’t pick up on my nerves.
Maybe it’ll be warmer tomorrow, so I can walk to my pole class. Or, worst case, I’ll somehow buy a damn snowsuit.
Another curt nod. It’s all I need to push myself to open the door. A blast of cold slaps my cheeks. I don’t look to see if he’s staring at me when I jump down into the snow. Don’t need to. I’d have to be numb not to feel the heat of his stare against the back of my head.
“Thank you, Brody. See you Monday,” I say before shutting the door and beginning my trek through the heavy snow on the sidewalk up to the house. My first task for tomorrow is to shovel before I wind up face first into the snow.
Maybe a snowsuit is a smart idea after all.
I didn’t hear from Bo all night, and at half past noon on this Saturday morning, it’s still silence. For the first time in days, no good-morning message greeted me when I woke up. It was jarring, to say the least.
The only texts on my phone today came from my sister, reminding me of my flight to Ottawa for the wedding creeping up on me, and Poppy telling me how excited she is to have me back at class today.
It shouldn’t be so disappointing not to hear from him after a single day, but after our first phone call, I guess I just expected him to talk to me even more, not less. His rushed goodbye yesterday took me by surprise, but I didn’t think too much of it. Now, though? It’s all I can think about.
Analyzing every single word he spoke has kept my thoughts in a knot all damn day.
I’ve been staring at my front door for ten minutes, the winter boots on my feet making them sweat. My car keys are clutched tightly between my fingers. I need a push. Someone to shove me out the door and into my car.
It’s minus thirty degrees today, which means no walking to the pole studio without risking frostbite.
I didn’t tell Brody about my plans today because I didn’t want him to have to feel responsible for carving out even more of his time to chauffeur me there and back, especially after his gruff attitude when he dropped me off last night.
Bryce or Poppy would have driven me, but they both go to the studio early, and I stupidly hyped myself up about driving this morning instead of reaching out before they’d left. Now I’m stuck with either bailing on class or toughing it out and climbing behind the wheel.
“Just drive the damn car, Anna,” I grit out.
Lifting my chin, I roll my shoulders and step outside. The sun is near blinding, and I have to squint at the porch stairs so I don’t trip and fall on the ice there?—
There’s no ice. How is there no ice?
My jaw falls open as I search the stairs and find nothing but blue specks of ice melt. Sharp-looking shards of it lie scattered on top of the new snow piles lining my shovelled sidewalk.
This wasn’t me. Was it my neighbours? Unlikely, considering I haven’t spoken to a single one of them since I moved in.
I passed out early last night and then chickened out this morning, deciding to stay huddled in my warm bed for as long as I could instead.
It was a problem for another day, but now . . . gratitude swells in my chest.
The walk to my car is easy without the snow and ice, and I pause when I realize my car has been brushed off as well. I don’t even have a snow brush. Haven’t needed one.
Maybe it was Poppy or Bryce. Those two women would do just about anything to help me out.
The inside of my car is freezing . My teeth chatter as I turn over the engine and gape in horror when it sputters, ticking over and over instead of starting. I try again, and again.
It’s dead.
The. Battery. Is. Dead.
My palms hit the steering wheel before my forehead does. Tears of frustration well in my eyes before spilling over. They run down my frozen cheeks, and I’m surprised they don’t turn into ice chips.
This is so embarrassing. My neighbours are probably watching me from inside, chattering about how unprepared I was for this winter season.
How long did I stand staring at my door before finally gaining the nerve to come out here, only to find my car dead?
As if it wouldn’t die without being plugged in at all.
It’s probably been dead since the first cold night.
“Ugh!” I shout, flinging myself back in my seat.
My teeth won’t stop clacking together, even when I bite down.
The thick jacket can’t protect me from this level of cold.
I can’t sit here and freeze to death. But what the hell am I supposed to do now?
I don’t know how to boost a car, let alone have cables in the first place or anyone to hook them up to.
My father never taught me things like this, and as if Stewart was going to spend his time giving me a lesson on boosting a battery.
I pull my phone from my pocket and focus on keeping my fingers from shaking. Anxiety bares its teeth at me, the distance between my mind and the looming pain of its bite closing in as the seconds tick by. It’s a task in itself just to pull up Bryce’s contact and press the Call button.
The ringtone continues to drill my eardrums before her voicemail catches the call. I swallow when I look at the time and realize pole has already started.
That leaves me with . . . zero options. Or maybe not. They have to have a tow truck service in this town, right? My fingers have grown stiff and partially numb as I bring up Google and look for one. I laugh sharply when the only one is half an hour out of town.
The next call I make isn’t one I understand, but I do it without hesitation. The moment I hear his voice after the third ring, I don’t feel so damn alone.
“You okay?”
“Hi to you too.”
“Sorry. Hey. You’ve just never called me out of the blue before.”
“My car is dead,” I blurt out, unable to keep it in and play coy right now.
A pause. “You’re in your car? Were you goin’ to drive?”
“I have a pole class. I wanted to drive myself. But it’s so cold and I haven’t plugged my car in at all since I’ve been here and I don’t have booster cables or even a car to boost it with and it’s really cold in here and I just?—”
“Take a breath,” he instructs, voice dropping into a soothing caress. My next inhale is shaky, but at least I can breathe. “Do you have anyone to call?”
The striking truth of my answer is a hammer to my heart. “Nobody that can come and help me.”
There’s movement on his side of the call, and I’m instantly feeling guilty for bothering him. Could I hit a lower low? I doubt it.
“Go back inside instead of sitting in the cold. I have to go, but please go inside and think through what to do. Sittin’ in your car if it’s dead won’t help you,” he directs calmly.
My stomach drops at the thought of him hanging up on me right now. I have no right feeling hurt by his schedule.
“Okay,” I croak.
There’s a slam of a door in the background and a loud male voice that doesn’t belong to Bo shouting before I hear him tell me to go inside one final time. The familiar beeping of an ended call is my only company now.
I hate the way I stare at my phone, waiting for him to call back when I know he won’t.
By the time I slide my hands into the pockets of my jacket and curl them in an attempt to warm them up, I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in the car or how long I linger, unable to haul myself back outside.
Long enough for snot to run from my nose and my legs to have no feeling left in them.
The air I suck down is cruel, burning in my lungs.
A scream rises up my throat when my door is pulled open and I’m hauled out of the car as if I weigh nothing. The heat radiating from the hard body behind mine nearly makes me purr, and I think I hate myself a little for that, considering I’m probably being kidnapped.
“You’re fucking frozen,” my assailant scolds.
It’s Brody. Brody, Brody, Brody.
His hot breath fans over my neck, and I moan at the sensation of it against my cold skin, uncaring about the way the sound makes him stiffen against my back. His voice and presence settle my fear, and I begin to go lax in his arms.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble. It’s taking everything in me not to spin in his arms and bury my face in his jacket.
His words are quick off the tongue. “I drove by your house on my way back to the ranch and saw you sitting inside of your car. You can’t be sitting in a cold car, Anna. Where are your keys?”
“In the ignition.”
The sound of protest I make when he releases me and steps toward the car is pitiful. I wish I could feel my blush because I know it’s there.
Brody catches my eyes and doesn’t look away. It’s a soft gaze. Unguarded. “Let me get your keys, and then we’ll go inside.”
“Both of us?”
“Unless you don’t want me to. I can boost your car and then leave,” he offers, not a hint of offense in the words.
I shake my head far too quickly. “No. You can come in.”
The corner of his mouth tilts into a small smile before he’s reaching into the car and pulling my keys free. He’s more at ease now than he was the last time I saw him, but there’s still something off. I can’t put my finger on it yet.
When he shuts my car door and turns to me, I jerk my head toward the house and say, “Come on.”
Even with my legs half-numb, I feel my knees shake when he slides his arm around my waist and carefully tucks me into his body before leading us up the sidewalk.
I don’t consider pulling away. Not even once.