Page 77 of Every Broken Thing

“Shut up,” I said, staring into my rear-view mirror.

“What is going on?”

“Stop talking, Ben,” I barked as I craned my neck over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following us.

“Silas—”

I rounded on him, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “I said, shut up!”

“Look out!”

A horn blared as headlights bathed the cab of my truck. Ben grabbed the wheel and jerked it hard, swerving us out of the lane of oncoming traffic. I slammed on the breaks, and the tires squealed as we came to a bone-crushing halt on the side of the road.

The other car kept going, laying on their horn the whole way.

“What the fuck” Ben shouted. “You almost killed us!”

I stared at my shaking hands, then at Ben’s terrified face. And then I burst into ugly tears.

22

Not Alone

Crying into my palms,I attempted to hide from Ben’s concerned demands for an explanation. Even if I’d tried to explain, I didn’t think he could have understood me. I was sobbing and gasping, unable to catch my breath as I shattered into a million pieces.

“You’re scaring me,” he said, his voice thick like he was on the verge of tears as well. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Silas?”

I couldn’t answer because my lungs weren’t working. Or maybe it was my abused throat, cinching tight as the emotional release suffocated me.

“Jesus, Si, come here.”

An arm wrapped around my shoulders, tugging gently. When I refused to move, he huffed and hauled me across the bench seat until I was in his arms. His spring soap drove away some of myhysteria, and I threw my arms around him and tucked my face into his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he crooned, gathering me close until I was nearly in his lap. “It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe for me.”

I was trying to breathe, but I couldn’t get enough oxygen.

“Look at me,” he said, and I shook my head again. Forcing me out of the refuge of his neck, he said, “Look at me!”

I looked at him.

His eyes were wild and wet, but he guided my hand to his chest, over his heart. He inhaled deeply, releasing it slowly out through pursed lips. He did it again. Then again. Until I started to copy.

“That’s it,” he said, thumbing away the tears still tracking down my cheeks. “Just look at me. It’s just us, okay? I’m right here.”

Slowly, my breathing evened out, and I slumped forward, my forehead meeting his. Mine was slicked with a cold sweat. His was dry and warm. His gaze never wavered, and I was lost to the ocean of his eyes.

“You with me?” he asked after I heaved a big, calming breath.

I nodded, tightening my grip on his California hoodie. “I’m with you.”

Relief worked through him, his shoulders loosening. “Good. Now tell me what happened.”

Part of me wanted to, because I didn’t want to carry it alone, but the list of reasons not to was a mile long.

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