Page 87 of The Wicked Love
“Will you tell me where we’re going at least?” she impatiently asks.
My fingers dance across the few inches of seat between us and up onto her thigh, and she jerks back.
“Kind of defeats the purpose of the mask if I tell you where we’re going.”
She tightens the seal between her lips and doesn’t say a word. And that’s exactly how we finish the ride—in silence.
The bump into the driveway makes her immediately suspicious. She perks up, and I can see her focus, like she’s going to be able to see through the mask.
“I’ll wait here,” Keanu says as he puts the car in park.
Thank God he knew where to find the key to this place, or I would have been screwed.
“Thanks,” I tell him as I unbuckle her seat belt. “Okay, love. Let’s go.”
I grab her hips, and she yelps. I slide her across the seat and swing her legs out of the car.
“Stand up.”
She listens—for once.
When her feet hit the ground and she’s balanced, I take her hands in mine and walk backward. “Right this way.”
I lead her up the stairs and unlock the front door, walking her over the threshold and shutting the door behind us.
With her her hands in mine, I direct her to our destination.
Shit. I hope she doesn’t slap me for bringing her here.
My heart flies to my throat as my doubts catch up to me.
“When I take the blindfold off, I need you to not get mad, okay? No cussing, or hitting, or slapping—”
She interrupts me, and I can see her hands on her hips even though she laughs when she says, “I’ve neveractuallyslapped you. Why do you keep acting like I will?”
She’s got a point. I slip my fingers under the mask.
“Because you’re either going to slap me when you see this or love me even more. Or both.” I lift the blindfold off her eyes and head, tucking it into my pocket while her eyes adjust to the view of her dad’s office door.
She sucks in a sharp breath, quickly looking around. Her eyes are bulging, slowly scanning the room. And her chest rises and falls faster.
My heart pounds harder and harder with the passing seconds of silence. “I’m sorry. Maybe this wasn’t my place—”
She interrupts me again. “Shut up. Just give me a second.”
And I can’t help but smile.
She hesitantly takes a step forward and another. And I know where she’s headed.
I follow her, giving her a few feet of space and the quiet she asked for.
Her knuckles hang in the air in front of the door, and she takes a shaky breath in, slowly lowering her hand to the doorknob and twisting.
She won’t find what she’s so scared to see—I made sure of that. With hours of scrubbing and layers of paint. I owe my teammates more than I can ever give back for their help in fixing the place up. Both the money Dawson spent to buy everything we needed, and their free labor.
She enters the room, stopping only a few feet in. My nerves pulse down my arms as I wait for her reaction. I swallow the lump in my throat as I walk in behind her, only a foot of space between us.
And I wait as the seconds turn into decades as I watch her relive the worst day of her life. And as she turns around, the girl she used to be—the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve—falls into my arms with tears rolling down her cheeks in waves.
