Page 35 of Choke

Stubborn girl.

She holds my gaze, unflinching, even as her lips turn purple and her body starts to give.

I grind hard against her, groaning out, “God, I love the way you choke.”

Promise Me

Lex

Dropping my bag onto the passenger seat of my car, I reach up to rub my neck. It’s been sore for the last few days. I’m convinced it’s because of the tension I’ve carried there since the event at the start of the week.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it from my pocket. I am an hour late leaving, and Lane is asking for my ETA.

I quickly type out, “Roughly an hour,” before throwing it into the cup holder in my center console. I jog back inside and press the elevator button at least half a dozen times before the door slides open. Heading back into my condo, I ensure my sweet cat Mildred has a large bowl of water and food before dropping to my hands and knees to pull her out from under the bed. She protests, mewing and squirming.

I hold her to my chest like a baby, peppering her neck with kisses as she continues to protest. I swear she likes me. She likes me when it’s convenient for her. Usually, when it’s cold. I drop her onto the bed, and she curls around to glare at me.

“Love you, Millie! I’ll be back on Sunday.” I say, bopping the top of her head once more, then heading for the door.

The elevator seems to move at a snail’s pace, and by the time I reach my car, 15 minutes have passed since I told Lane I was an hour out. At this time, the drive will take me just shy of two hours.

I text my house sitter to let them know I’m leaving and when I’ll be back, then scroll to my playlist and crank up the volume. By the time I merge onto the highway, I feel the tension in my shouldersrelease. What a bizarre few days. I stop my brain from drifting back to the dimly lit hall—to Adrian’s hand on my throat, to how I accepted whatever was coming without a fight. That will be something my therapist can help me dissect later.

An hour and thirty minutes later, I pull into Lane’s driveway. Her daughter sits on the couch under the window and lights up when she sees me. She turns to call something over her shoulder, no doubt alerting the family I’ve arrived. Soon, two more faces press close to the window, and I’m struck with guilt at seeing how much bigger her boys are since the last time I visited.

I grab my bag and rush up the steps to the front door. It flies open, and three sweet faces greet me with excitement. Lane is standing just behind them and leaning against the wall.

Lola smacks the storm door handle, and I narrowly dodge getting clobbered in the face.

“WEXY!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around my legs.

I look at Lane, confusion on my face. Lola has never greeted me like this.

Lane shrugs, chuckling, “She recently figured out that she gets more flies with honey, and now we have to stop her from hugging strangers in dark alleyways.”

I let my bag drop to the floor and wrap my arms around her. Her hair smells like strawberries. Before I can let her go, her older brothers attack from either side, knocking me backward and creating a pile of giggling arms and legs. Lane’s kids are bright, kind, and polite, but holy fuck, there are a lot of them.

Luke and Enzo lifted Lola from me, then jumped and grabbed my hands to pull me up. I am dusting myself off when Lane pulls me into a warm hug. Everything about her is warm and maternal. When she releases me, I pull three chocolate bars out of my bag and hand them to the kids. There’s no hesitation as they tear into them, and she groans.

“Guys! Dinner is on the table.” Her tone is whatever you would call her version of stern.

The three kids are already stuffing a bite of chocolate in their mouths as they run toward the back of the house where the dining room is located. That’s when I smell the fresh sourdough bread and whatever she’s cooked for dinner.

I am kicking off my shoes when she comments, “Dinner was ready 45 minutes ago, but you must’ve cured that lead foot of yours.”

I grimace and laugh, about to apologize, when she continues, “I knew you hadn’t left home — today wasn’t the day you would magically start arriving on time.”

Anyone else and I may have felt like it was a scold, but she’s never been judgmental — not of me anyway — and the comment has me shrugging while we laugh and follow her kids.

We take our seats, and I notice we’re missing her husband.

“Where is Dave?” I ask.

“Some emergency computer thing. He had to go to the city. We have the house to ourselves tonight,” She says while dishing food onto the kids’ plates.

The house is warm, and I pull my sweater over my head and then reach for the fresh bread on the table.

“Did the great and wonderful Lane actually bake me fresh bread?!” I tease, slathering way too much butter onto it.

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