Page 40 of Vow of Silence

The hum of a distant engine precedes the glow of lights piercing my lids, scaring the darkness back to where it belongs. I open my eyes and lift my chin, loose strands of hair whipping around my face when a particularly nasty draft crosses through the trees. The headlights blur and morph, splitting into two before they swiftly die as the gentle rumble of the engine grows louder. The pace of the car feels ominous—stealthy like a dangerous stalker. But I’m sure Benito keeps the revs down to tamp the noise.

At least, I know that’s what I’d do.

Dropping one hand to my waist, I rest my palm over the hard outline of my gun. I forgot it the night Caroline and I went out. Left the weapon where it lay on my drawers in our rush to get to the event before the band began to play. We’d been giddy, hearing that the college four-piece we spent many nights celebrating successful exam results with was back in town. Three guys and a girl who’d made their dream of earning a full-time wage from their passion a reality.

The concept is so far removed from what I expected from life that I had to go along just to see what that looked like: completion. And as a result, I fell further apart.

The sleek black car slows to a stop beside where I stand, its sporty lines highlighted by what light breaks through the drifting clouds. A moment of hesitation fed by the apprehension of getting into an unknown vehicle stalls me where I stand. But after reasoning Benito is the one who chose our rendezvous point, I figure who else would be here at this time of night?

Finger wrapped around the cool handle, I open the door and feel immediately at ease when the cabin’s warmth greets me. I climb onto the passenger seat and lift my chin to take in the devil behind the wheel. With an impassive stare and the hard cut of his jaw, one would be forgiven for feeling as though Benito doesn’t want me here. But after seeing him give that look many times during our teenage years, I know it’s simply the stare of a man who’s frustrated he’s unable to do or say more.

I’d give anything to know what tumbles through that beautifully tortured mind of his. To hear private thoughts spoken from his soft lips.

My throat thickens as I realize my wish will never be a reality. “Fancy meeting you here.”

I earn a wry smile from my betrothed as I shut the door on his expensive car. He reaches across, tentatively letting his fingertips slip through the loose strands of my hair. I’ve pulled the majority back into a low ponytail, but a few sections around my face fall free to my collar. I meet his gaze, never blinking, afraid to look away when he dots his thumb to my lips. I don’t want to miss a single word those ice-blue irises convey.

“Where are we going?” I ask, securing my belt.

He frowns at the road, both hands on the wheel, before looking my way and placing one hand on his chest.

“I trust you.” To a degree.

He nods as though understanding the limitations of that promise and slots the car into gear. We drive through the night, only the soft instrumental tones of ambient electronica through the speakers breaking the otherwise calm atmosphere between us. It feels far too familiar, too comfortable for spurned lovers of long ago.

I should be twitchy. Holding the grudge in the tension of my neck and shoulders while I count down the minutes until I can be free of his presence. But as much as the sight of the manbeside me makes my heart ache, what’s left of my romantic soul longs for the bliss I know he can give.

I miss his touch. His whispered words. The stolen looks and secretive gestures that would set my lungs on fire and make my legs weak.

I miss knowing that what we had was worth more than what we stood to lose.

I miss my first love and my hardest goodbye, the boy who disappeared without a word and reemerged as a man who promised never to say anymore.

My brow hardens as we turn left and start down a road that I know leads to one place and one place only. The estate Caroline lived in is a master-planned community nestled into the hillside of a gorgeous valley on the very outskirts of town. Although a few feeder roads lead onto the one we drive down now, this is the only way in and out. And there’s only one reason why Benito would have us on it.

“Why are you taking me to the crash site?”

He lifts his palm off the steering wheel; thumb still looped around the leather as though to say I should give him a moment to explain.

My heart thumps heavily in my chest, the blood through my veins warming until I’m forced to loosen the neck of my coat and fan the sides. I haven’t been back here, and for good reason. Why would I? What the fuck is there to gain by being at the place Caroline lost her life?

I don’t foresee closure in this, only more suffering while I relive the single moment of my life that I’d do anything to forget.

I don’t even realize Benito has his large palm spread on my knee until he squeezes his fingers gently into the side of my leg.It’s okay,his gesture says, but I’m not so sure it is.

Unshed tears thicken my throat, and I’d crack the window to draw a full breath of fresh air, but I’m afraid to let the ghostsof that night inside if I do. I want to curl into the footwell of the car and pretend I don’t see the trees pass us by and vividly remember their shapes from when we tried in vain to outrun the pursuit car.

By the time Benito brings the vehicle to a stop on the edge of the road, my chest rises and falls rapidly with my hyperventilated breaths, my face flushed with heat from the surge of adrenalin. The primal parts of my brain are squarely in survival mode, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it.

He exits the car, leaving me in my state of panic, to round the hood to my side. I don’t protest when he opens my door; I barely have any strength left to fight him when he wraps one hand around my bicep and lifts me from the seat. But I do welcome the security he provides when Benito’s strong arms wrap around my back and pull me to him, crushing me in his embrace. He runs one hand over my hair, the other tight on my waist—hesitating when he feels my gun—and places kisses on the top of my head.

“Ssh,” he whispers, the sound of the ‘S’ soft due to his deformity.

I couldn’t care less. My panic subsides instantly, and I pull back to look him in the eye. It’s the first actual sound he’s made. Perhaps it wasn’t a word, as such, but he spoke.

For me.

With a shy smile, he guides me to the side of the car. Benito positions himself with his back against the door and places me in front, my back to his chest. I nestle into his warmth, attention drawn down when he loops his arms underneath mine and brings his phone in front of us both.

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