Page 17 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

Darius is getting in the car, so I leave Hans standing on the side of the driveway and slip in behind the wheel. I should have told him to get in on this side since he wasn’t driving when it happened. Maybe sitting here would be better, but he’s already sitting down in the passenger seat.

Hans sidles up, his phone ready. “Okay, one minute. And go.”

At first, nothing happens. We both stare forward. Darius is fine, calm, and breathing normally. He doesn’t turn to me but speaks to the dashboard. “I sometimes feel like I was the collateral damage in that accident.” My heart lurches and weeps. I don’t know what that means. But I’m scared to ask. Because he’s been alone here forever after that? Because his family has forgotten him? He reaches and slides his seatbelt over himself and clicks it into place. I want to take his hand, but I don’t. Like a cruel trick, the click of that buckle is what does it. His forehead becomes dotted with little beads of sweat. His breathing starts out slow because he’s controlling and holding it, but then, soon, he’s gasping and dragging in huge gulps.

Fuck, is this what a panic attack looks like?

I turn in my seat and put my hand on his shoulder. He feels like a thousand degrees through his button-down dress shirt. “Whoa. Whoa, we’re not going anywhere. I don’t have the keys.We’re safe. Darius, look at me.” He doesn’t. He keeps his eyes totally screwed shut, and his hands clench tightly into fists. He’s so afraid. I can’t imagine what’s going on in his head. Maybe it’s not fear. But it’s definitely painful for him, and I’m the one who caused this because I had this stupid, stupid idea that it would help. My nose prickles with tears that I don’t deserve to cry. “Darius. Can you look at me?”

“You still have thirty seconds left.”

“Great, Hans, thanks so much,” I groan. But then, I set my hand on Darius’ knee. His muscles are clenched up so tight that he’s like iron under my grip. “We’re half done, and nothing has happened. Tell me what’s going on in your head. I know it must suck in there. Or look at me. You don’t have to go there. You can stay here with me. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“You should give him barf bag now,” Hans advises.

“No. He’s not going to puke.”Oh fuck, it totally looks like he’s going to puke.

Then, the timer goes off on Hans’ phone—some spaceship noise that scares the hell out of me and nearly sends Darius through the non-existent roof of the car. Reaching over, I undo his seatbelt, and as soon as it retracts, he shoves the car door open and practically falls out. Hans grabs his shoulders and rights him like it’s nothing before putting him on a path back to the house.

I’m numb in the driver’s seat. There are too many emotions to process right now, so maybe it’s best not to pick any of them apart.

After just a few steps, Darius stops walking and just stands there. I don’t want to sit here with the sinking feeling, knowing I’ve just put him through hell, so I throw open the driver’s door and run until I’m standing in front of him. I snatch his hand, which is frigid now. His face is ashen, and he still looks like he might throw up. “I’m so sorry.” I meet his eyes, even thoughit’s hard. “Darius, I’m…I thought it would help. I wasn’t trying to make you go back there. I just…the car wasn’t moving, and it didn’t have a roof. I thought…I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t even have to be in one to relive that night, do you?”

His jaw clenches, and he tries to withdraw his hand, but I hold on. “No.” He’s not looking at me anymore. “I don’t.”

“I’m not a therapist. I’m a dummy. I’m truly sorry. I had this idea, and I thought…but I’m—”

“It was a good idea.”

“What?”

His eyes are back on mine, and some of his color is back. He doesn’t look like that terrible mix of gray, white, and green anymore. They’re all good colors, but not in a person. “I’ve been running from this shit for years. Hans has to sedate me if he ever needs to take me in a vehicle. I missed my own wedding partly because my brother is a bastard and a plotter but mostly because I didn’t get there in time, seeing as I couldn’t get in a damn car. It’s insane.”

“It’s not insane. Not after what happened.”

“But it’s over. People get into accidents, and then they’re back to driving the next day.”

“I’ve wrecked two cars,” I admit. “Both of them in intersections. I T-boned other cars, and neither of them was my fault. People don’t know how to turn left. Sometimes, it just happens. I had wicked whiplash both times, but I have to say that as soon as I received the insurance money and got another vehicle, Iwasback out there. I never considered not driving again. I do get really edgy when I’m going through intersections, and there is someone waiting to turn, though. I’m always shadowing the brake. That urge…it stays with you. And you remember it. The second time it happened, I swear I heard that nasty crunch of metal from the first time before it evenhappened. And I know that’s not even close to what you went through. I’m just trying to say I understand what you’re saying.”

Darius stands up just a little bit taller. The sun beams down on us from above, and in the bright light, I can see the mark on his bottom lip where he sunk his teeth into it earlier in the car. “I’m going to sit in it for longer and longer each day. Will you put it in the garage when you’re not driving it and leave the top down?”

I’m shocked. My god, I can’t imagine having to be that brave. I didn’t understand how bad it really was before because I hadn’t seen it firsthand. I swallow hard while my heart beats in one long, rapid stride. “Sure.”

His face is still hard, and it shows none of the relief I feel, but some of the tension breaks when Hans comes up and claps him on the back. “I’ll bring barf bags. Lots.”

“Eww,” I mutter. “Here.” I give the one I have back to Hans, but he shakes his head.

“Keep it. You never know when might come in handy.”

“Can you stop that? The book you were reading was in German.”

He grins. “Like I said. A little of here, a little of there, a little of everywhere.”

I guess he’s able to speak more than one language, but still. It is incredibly annoying. It’s also obviously quite entertaining for him. Well, at least one of us finds it amusing.

I want to make sure Darius knows how much I admire and respect him for doing this. For pushing and putting himself through something I can’t even imagine. I was incredibly foolish to think I could help, that I could even understand one little bit of what was going on in his head. I can’t put myself in his place or fathom that kind of anguish. I’ve seen the mess of scars. I also can’t put myself in the position of being in so much pain and going under for the surgeries and all the healing, over and over and over again. It must be incredibly frustrating to havesomething like that happen and know you’re never going to be the way you once were. That you’re forever changed. It must be extra hard for him, a strong man in the prime of his life, to have to admit he can’t do everything by himself anymore. I know he has to rely on Hans for a lot. But just how much, I don’t know.

I was collateral damage.

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