Page 18 of Fallen Empire
But today, Manhattan didn’t feel like home. Nothing did.
Ben hadn’t said a word the entire drive, and I hadn’t wanted him to. The silence between us wasn’t comforting. It was thick and heavy, like sitting inside a storm cloud just before it breaks open.
By the time we pulled up to my building, my chest felt like it had been wrapped in steel.
“This is fine,” I said quietly, unbuckling my seatbelt as he eased the car into an open spot and shifted it into park. “Thanks for the ride.”
But as soon as I opened my door, I heard his open too.
I turned slowly, blinking like I hadn’t just watched him step out of the car. “Ben,” I warned.
He shut the door behind him, completely ignoring me.
“You don’t need to come up.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to shower. Eat. And let me take you back to the hospital. Just like I said.”
He walked around to the front of the car, sat against the hood, and pulled out his phone. He crossed one leg over the other like he had all the damn time in the world.
Like hell he is.
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Are you serious right now?”
He didn’t even flinch. Just kept scrolling through his phone like he didn’t notice I was two seconds away from snatching it out of his hands and hurling it across the parking garage.
“Dead serious.”
“You’re not my babysitter, Ben.”
“No. I’m not. But I’m also not about to stand by and watch you spiral just because you’re too damn stubborn to take care of yourself.”
Rage built.
“You don’t get to lecture me,” I snapped. “Not after the last four days—after the way you’ve been looking at me like I was some kind of mistake.”
His jaw flexed. “You risked your life.”
“And I’d do it again!” My anger flared in defense, voice echoing off the concrete walls. I didn’t want the tears to burn, but they did, waiting for release.
Don’t you dare break, Millie. Not here. Not with him.
He softened, and it didn’t escape me that he realized I was on the verge of defeat. “You weren’t supposed to be there, Millie.”
“You think I don’t know that?” My voice cracked. “You think I haven’t gone over every second of it a thousand times in my head? But I made a call. And I’d make it again if it meant being there for her.”
Silence pressed in between us. Not the cold kind—but the charged, trembling kind that always came before something broke.
“Go home,” I whispered. “I don’t want you here.”
“No.”
