Page 40 of The Wrong Drive

“Turner, you okay?” Bradford asks me, but his voice sounds funny. It sounds too light. “Turner?”

“Turner.” A soft touch lands on the back of my neck. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head as the noise fades, my iron grip around Gunner loosening. My heart drums in my ears as I look up, realizing suddenly I’m in the barn with the Christmas tree stand, my dog, and the woman I’m holding captive.

And I feel absolutely gutted.

If my brother could see the stupidity, the pain, the death, he’d be so fucking disappointed in me.

“Turner, will you please say something?” Em chokes out, clearly having read the situation for exactly what it was. “We don’t have to put up the Christmas tree. I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracks, and I blink, my heart slowing.

“No.” I rub my eyes. “Just let me get it ready.” I let go of Gunner and stand to my feet, keeping my back to her. I forcemyself to go through the motions, cutting it a second time, and drilling the holes while Em watches from afar, worry on her face.

The little flashback she saw was nothing, and I swallow hard as I consider what might happen. It always starts with the little flashbacks…

Which means I’m losing my grip on reality.

I eye Em as I slip past her with the tree and stand, Gunner staying close to me. He can feel my sanity slipping, too. The sense of impending doom is already heavy on my mind. I was worried about killing her and now, those worries are closing in. Now, I may just wake up and she be gone.

Like Thomas.

I focus only on my footsteps, counting them as I walk to the house. Maybe I’ve been deceiving myself since she showed up. I have a sick feeling of how this is all going to end for me. But still, Em has awakened the part of me that I thought died with Thomas…

The human side of me—the side of me that abhors everything I’ve become. The side that wanted a picket fence, a pretty wife, and yard full of kids. I’ll never have it, and I know that. I don’t deserve it, anyway. I glance back at Em, trudging behind me in silence, worry written all over her face.

I’m so fucking sorry, Em.

Chapter 18

Emersyn

I don’t knowthat much about PTSD, but I heard the panic in Turner’s voice as he shouted for Gunner. The response from Gunner nearly moved me to tears as he sprinted to the barn, like he was suddenly on a mission—with more urgency than he trailed me in the woods. HeknewTurner needed him.

Now, even as I string popcorn on fishing line Turner gave me, working with what little I have to decorate, I can’t shake the strange shift in Turner. He’s got a strange, distant look in his eyes, and it’s more unnerving than anything I’ve faced thus far.

Especially as he sits on the couch, still in his parka.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him as I finish my string of popcorn and stand to my feet.

“No,” he answers me flatly, his eyes focused on the fire.

“Okay,” I say quietly, threading the pitiful decoration around the Christmas tree he set by the door for me. I’m regretting everything about having him get it for me. I know it triggered whatever happened this afternoon, and I feel awful for it. At least hot and cold Turner looked less dead inside than this version—even him up in the room was less terrifying thanthisversion.

When I finish, I approach him cautiously. “Aren’t you hot in that?” I gesture to his coat.

He shakes his head, and stands to his feet, towering over me. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only seven o’clock,” I reason, following him into the kitchen. He reaches to the cabinet above the fridge, pulling down a new bottle of prescription sleeping pills. I purse my lips as he heads down the hallway, noting his hands shaking.

“Turner, wait,” I call after him, jogging to catch up as Gunner follows. I can’t let him go up there alone, and I have a feeling he might not come back down. “Please.” I grab his hand, tugging hard at him when he doesn’t stop.

“Let me go. I just want to sleep for a while.”

“Don’t go,” my voice wavers, and he finally turns back around to face me, his eyes no longer hardened like always. I see raw, gut-wrenching pain in them, and every fucking doubt I’ve ever had about him slips away.

“I’m averybad person, Em,” he rasps. “I’ve done things that no one ever should.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, reaching for his coat. I unzip it, pushing it off his shoulders. “I don’t care what you’ve done.”

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