Page 70 of The Plus One Contract

“I should be asking you that.”

I grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. “Don’t worry about me.”

She sighs, tapping her fingers on the garment bag at her feet. “You keep saying that, and yet here I am, worrying.”

My jaw sets. Another wave of frustration hits me, not at her, but at the entire situation. “I’ve handled my mother for years. It’s nothing new.”

“Yeah, I get that, but maybe you shouldn’t have to handle it alone. Can’t your brother help more often?”

The sincerity in her tone scrapes at my defenses. As for my brother, he’s a bigger waste of oxygen than my father so I ignore that question. “It’s not something I wanted you involved in,” I say curtly, merging onto the freeway.

Sienna’s quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “I’m not judging you, you know.”

I keep my gaze on the road. “Aren’t you?” The question slips out, harsher than I intend.

She leans forward, meeting my eyes in profile. “No,” she says, unyielding. “Not at all.”

I feel something inside me twist, equal parts gratitude and guilt, but I can’t hold that thought for long.

“Nathan…” She tries again, but I don’t let her finish. I’m not sure I can handle her compassion right now without snapping.

My phone buzzes again from the center console. The same number. God, does she ever stop? I glance at Sienna, who looks at me with concern, then snatch the phone, swiping to ignore the call. Silence returns. My mother can wait.

“Can I ask you something?” Sienna ventures after a while.

I tense, expecting a question about my father or the fucked-up childhood memories my mother dangled earlier, but all she says is, “Are you… I mean, do you get tired of being the one who fixes everything?”

I blow out a breath. “I fix what I can. Doesn’t mean I do it well.”

She nods slowly. “Still. You do it.”

I don’t respond, focusing on navigating the city streets. Eventually, we pull up in front of her place. I kill the engine, letting it idle.

She fiddles with the door handle, then sighs, turning to me. “Thank you for the ride. For…letting me help.”

I stare straight ahead, my voice tight. “Thank you for helping.”

Something shifts between us, that crackling energy from earlier laced with new tenderness. I can’t escape the memory of the fear in her eyes when she saw me slam Simon against the wall. Or the fierce determination in her posture when she started cleaning my mother’s house, refusing to let me send her away.

My mother’s hateful words churn in my gut.He only hit you because you—I shove the memory down. Not here. Not now.

Sienna opens her mouth, maybe to say something else, but stops. She unclips her seat belt and rummages for the emerald dress. Carefully hooking the garment bag over her arm, she half-turns. “I’ll be thinking about you,” she blurts, cheeks flushing. “I mean…tonight, because you have to go back there.”

A wry laugh escapes me. “I’ll survive.”

She hesitates. “Sure. But if you need me…”

My chest tightens.Don’t say it,I warn myself. Because if I let her in any further, how do I keep the lines drawn? The lines that were never supposed to blur?

Instead, I nod stiffly. “I know.”

She lowers her gaze, then musters a small smile. Opening the door, she slides out. The air drifts in, and I almost regret letting it separate us. Her footsteps crunch on the driveway. She fumbles for the house keys, then glances back.

She looks worried.

For me.

My heart twists, but I clench the wheel, refusing to indulge the ache. She disappears inside. Once the door closes, I let out a long breath.

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