Page 46 of Her Dark Angel

I settle into the seat and nod. “I get it. They’re the worst.”

Silence settles over us again. I have a lingering question in the back of my mind that I have been wanting to ask Nash but didn’t know the right time to do it. Apparently asking when we’re in a confined space is my brain's first choice. “So… why do you get into lots of fights?”

Nash’s eyes dart in my direction for a moment before sweeping back to the road. “Why do you want to know?”

I shrug. “Because why not? Sometimes it feels like you’re in jail more than you’re not. At least, before we started this fake relationship.”

Nash huffs and tugs his lip ring between his teeth. I have to look away because the sight makes my stomach clench painfully with an emotion I would rather not feel.

“You’re testing my patience, little devil.”

“Come on,” I plead, turning in my seat to face him. The moonlight shining across half of his face darkens his sharp features. “I shared something personal about myself during dinner, so I think it’s only fair that you do the same.”

“That’s not how it works, Kin.”

“Yes, it is,” I counter with a huff, folding my arms over my chest. “Don’t make me beg, Nash.”

Nash’s lips quirk up into a smirk. “I think I would like to hear you beg, little devil. It would be like music to my ears.”

I roll my eyes and slap his shoulder, but not so hard it impacts his driving. “Please?”

He runs a hand through his messy curls, his other hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Fuck. Fine. But if you tell anyone about this?—”

“I won’t,” I interject. As much as Nash gets on my nerves and can be an asshole, I would never share his personal information with anyone. It’s wrong on so many levels, and I understand his pain of trauma and how exhausting it can be to fight the demons lurking in the depths of your mind. “I promise.”

Nash blows out a short breath. “I had a shit childhood growing up, and didn’t have the most… loving parents in the world.” He turns the car swiftly onto my street, jerking me slightly. “And I… used to get bullied a lot in high school because of my mom’s job.”

As Nash parks the car in front of my house, I continue to watch the side of his face, unable to tear my eyes away.

He runs both of his hands through his hair and tugs at the roots roughly before letting the curls fall over his eyes and around his face. I can tell he’s struggling to get the words out by the way his mouth opens and closes, his chest heaving with each breath he takes.

I wonder how many times he has told this story, if at all?

“I learned very fucking quickly that the only way to deal with those assholes was by using my fists. My words were never enough, but my fists were able to get the job done. And although I hated my mother and everything she did to me, I couldn’t let those assholes—I couldn’t just sit back and?—”

Nash’s breathing becomes erratic and shallow as he tries to force the words out, but all he’s met with are puffs of air and broken syllables. The steering wheel creaks under his grip and his body is so rigid he could pass as being a statute in a museum.

“I couldn’t—I didn’t have a choice. It was the only way to?—”

My eyes widen as realization dawns on me—Nash is having a panic attack.

Without thinking, I lean across the center console, grab his face between my hands, and crash my lips against his, silencing Nash momentarily. His lips are soft and taste like beef and Jack Daniels, a combination that shouldn’t be good, but on Nash, mixed with his woodsy cologne, is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. But I won’t ever admit that to him. The lip ring pierced through his skin brushes against my sensitive lips and I have to all but hold back the moan bubbling in my throat.

Holy shit.

The kiss doesn’t last long before I pull away, but the absence of his lips and my need to feel them against mine again shocks me. My core is on fire and my mind is spinning with the need to kiss Nash again, but I force myself back into my seat and meet his mismatched eyes. They are alight with a fire I’ve never seen before and it fuels the flames in my core.

“Kinsley…”

“You helped me, and now I’ve helped you. Consider us even.” Nash is silent as I collect my purse from the floor and swing the passenger door open. “Goodnight, Nash.”

Silence follows me as I step out of the car and close the door gently behind me, trying as hard to not let on how my body is tingling with electricity.

When I step through the front door and lean my back against it, I exhale the breath I had been holding and screw my eyes shut.

Did I make the right decision by kissing him? It was clear he was having a panic attack, so I wanted to help him the same way he helped me. I mean, I hope it helped.

Does he feel it helped?

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