Page 42 of Broken Bonds

Climbing back into my truck, I switch on the heater to warm up the cab while I wait as patiently as I’m able. It’s a feat because I’m not exactly known for being patient when something important is involved. Especially something as important as this. I want to get Ramsey on the fast track to getting better and healing. Ineedto get her there.

Failure isn’t an option.

Not this time.

When she finally reappears, she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a large sweatshirt that I strongly suspect belongs to one of her alphas. I feel a wave of relief wash over me when I see her walking towards my truck. I was becoming increasingly anxious that she wouldn’t come after almost thirty minutes had gone by.

She yanks open the passenger side door, and I can’t help but find it amusing that she’s so small. I move to get out so I can help her in, but when she hears my door open, she glances up and glares at me.

“I am more than capable of getting in this monstrosity all on my own, thank you very much,” she growls in frustration, a determined look crossing her features.

I hold my hands up in a passive gesture before shutting my door. Struggling to get in the vehicle, she’s forced to hop up in order to grab hold of the hand rails on the interior so she can climb in. A grunt of exertion puffs out of her as she finally climbs in, and once seated she exhales with a huff and gives me an angry glare when she notices my expression.

That was cute as shit.

“Why the hell is your truck so damn tall?” she grumbles, buckling her seatbelt and sitting back in her seat with her arms crossed.

I give a slight shrug, offering her one of those extravagantly decorated, girly coffee drinks from Starbucks, and then I quickly switch the truck into reverse.

“Doesn’t seem too tall to me,” I tell her with a smirk.

Her disgruntled grunt is the only sound in the air as I make my way down her driveway, a smile playing on my lips. She slides a giant pair of sunglasses on and relaxes back, looking out the window for most of our drive. It’s not until nearly forty-five minutes have gone by that she sits up and turns the radio down. She pulls her glasses off and frowns over at me.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, Crystalwood doesn’t have anything like what I wanted to take you to do, so we’re making a trip out to Shady Brooks.”

I wince when she shouts, “That’s nearly three hours away!”

“Well, yeah, but it’ll be worth it when we get there. I swear,” I assure her, keeping my eyes on the road.

Her intense gaze feels like a physical weight on the side of my face, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. Maybe I should have told her we were sort of going on a miniature road trip.

When I stumbled across the place, I immediately knew it was the perfect spot for her to release all her built-up rage and sadness. The length of the trip didn’t seem to be a major issue at the time, however now I’m having doubts about my judgement.

Her prolonged silence causes me to become so uncomfortable that a sheen of sweat appears on my back, and I grip the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turn ghostly white. The longer she takes to say something, the more anxious I become.

Is she mad at me?

Upset?

Should I just turn back and take her home?

Did I completely screw this up?

I’m suddenly feeling like I’m in way over my head and I don’t know what to do. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt this out of depth in my life.

“Well, I hope you had plans to stop soon so I can pee, since you thought giving me a giant coffee before taking a long trip was a great idea,” she finally says softly, looking back out of the window.

I sit back and let my shoulders drop, feeling the tension that had accumulated there melt away as I smile to myself.

“That can certainly be arranged.”

A quick stop for gas and a bathroom break later, and we’re back on the road. We don’t speak, content to listen to the radio playing softly in the background. Ramsey’s attention remains focused outside her window, eyes following the trees as they flash by in a blur.

I offer a silent prayer to any deity willing to listen that taking her to do this won’t be a mistake and will instead provide her some reprieve. That it will help quiet the thoughts I’m sure she’s struggling with enough that she can start to crawl her way back into the light.

As I maneuver my truck into the parking lot, Ramsey sits upright and glances curiously at the warehouse. Standing prominently at the front of the building is a massive sign that readsMayhem Managedin bold black lettering. Neon paint has been artfully splattered across the jagged shape of the letters and they look like they’ve been beaten to hell, but on purpose.

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