Page 79 of Collided

I get to the coffee table and lay out all the bracelets I made in the last few days. I don’t need to say anything. This is me not giving up on chasing freedom and wanting happiness that money can buy me. It’s small, but it means everything to me. I want to hoard books and pay for meals when I go out with him and his friends. I want to do nice things for Marie because she’s such a good friend to me. My first real friend. I need to do this. I need to make this work somehow.

Heath joins me, and we quietly work.

“What are you doing?” Heath leans against the pillar on the porch. It’s past seven p.m. and we’re outside in the dark. Well, it’s not exactly dark. There are lamp posts along the driveway.

“Calling a cab.” I gesture to my phone.

A deep frown embeds between his eyebrows. “No, you’re not.”

God. He loves to tell me what to do.

“Too late. It’s already on its way.” I shrug, feeling content that he can’t do anything.

With a smirk, he looks over at the bodyguard standing a few feet away from us. “Don’t let any car in.” The man nods and speaks in his earpiece.

Surprise grips my body. I stare at Heath in disbelief.

He starts walking in the direction of the garage.

With growing agitation, I follow him. “Heath, what are you doing?”

“Hope, I’m driving you home.” He spins the car key on his finger.

“I can get there myself because I have the money.” My voice carries a subtle edge, intent to cut the words he said to me before.

Stopping in his tracks he faces me. “Look…” running a hand through his thick mesh of straight, dark brown hair, he continues, “I didn’t fucking mean what I said.”

My feet come to a halt. Those words trip me off my axis with such force I’m unable to think.

His blue eyes set on me. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was wrong of me.”

“It was,” I agree, reminding him of his mistake.

He does another round with his hair. “It won’t fucking happen again.”

My mind goes blank. I stand and watch him with surprise. I never expected an apology from him.

“You don’t know that,” I reply.

“I swear,” he softly promises.

“It hurt me, you know,” I whisper.

He steps closer. “I know. I shouldn’t have fucking said it. I hurt people with my words all the time, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why?”

He touches my hair. “We should leave.”

In the tight space of his car, I breathe in rich leather and the musky wood scent of his cologne that consumes me like a drug. With each inhale he captures more and more of my attention.

Has he always smelled this good?

Going over sixty, he speeds through the roads and stops at a diner. Looking over he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Are you hungry?”

Since I have money I nod.

At the counter, I read the menu and do the math for the prices.

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