Page 49 of The Crush
“That’s fine.” She tilts her chin up, the smallest of defiant smiles playing on her lips. “I already know there’s room for me in Danny’s bed.”
That. Smart. Mouth.No wonder I love it so much.
She turns her back then and walks away, and I wait only a second before following, anticipating return fire. But this time, the silence sticks.
Thirty-Seven
Isabel
Neither of us have spoken since we left the parking lot, not since Daniel helped me up into his truck while he kept watch over his shoulder. The passenger door shutting with a decisive thud before he strode to his own side, climbed in, and threw his truck into gear.
I hadn’t looked as we drove away. I kept my eyes on his right hand resting on my leg, on the broken knuckles and the reddened skin rather than on all the faces that I knew would be watching our retreat. Miles later, I’m still doing the same.
My chest aches from swallowing down tears, my throat burning from a too-long-stifled scream, while my ankle throbs out a constant dull reminder. On my bare knees, I can still see the gravel, dozens of tiny sharp pieces clinging to my skin that I have yet to brush away.
It feels as if I can’t move. As if Ishouldn’t, because the moment I do, everything will accelerate away from me again.
I don’t even realize we’ve made it back to the house until the truck lurches to a stop, until Daniel’s hand is slipping from mine as he gets out, and I finally look up to follow his long strides and scowling expression around the front of the truck.
“Danny—” I start as he opens my door, but then his hands are on me, and I’m falling again. But this landing is far softer.
My feet don’t even have a chance to touch the ground before he envelopes me, my arms finding their place around his shoulders as he holds me tight. I cling to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck before I finally let myself cry.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Isabel.”
“No,I’msorry. I thought—I should’ve known—I didn’t think he’d do something like that.” The words come out in gasps between sobs while he shushes me, rocking me slightly back and forth as he strokes my back until I’ve stopped. Only then does he lead me inside, an arm around my waist so that I can lean into him.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells me once he has me situated on the dark-brown living room sofa, brushing a kiss against the crown of my head and disappearing into the kitchen. Before I can get up to go after him, he appears again with the first aid kit.
Without another word, he crouches in front of me and cups the side of my face with his hand, eyes checking me over in a slow, methodical scan. When he reaches my hands, his expression tightens, curses weaving under his breath at my scraped palms and knees.
As gentle as he’s being, I still bite my cheek when the antiseptic hits my skin, and he murmurs another apology as he cleans and bandages the cuts. Finally, he moves to my swollen ankle, gingerly rotating and flexing it.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” he determines. “But we should ice it.”
He starts to stand again but I reach out and grab him first. “Wait, let me see you first.”
He looks at me and I think for a second that he’s going to fight me on it, but instead he concedes, dropping down next to me onthe couch with a tired sigh before letting me place his battered right hand in my lap. I try to be as careful with him as he was with me, even if my vision is blurry with tears as I find myself tending to his hand for the second time since he’s come home.
Igot him hurt. I am the reason the skin over his knuckles is cracked and raw, the reason he’s wincing from the pain in his side when he tries to shift his position on the couch. I lean forward to push off his jacket so I can get a better look, pausing over his still-knotted tie.
“I can’t believe you actually wore this,” I say, trying to distract myself with it a second time. “Tochurch.”
He chuckles. “I thought it was your favorite. You could barely keep your hands off it last time you saw it.”
I give him my most disapproving look, but some of the effectiveness is lost from the way I’m so clearly trying not to smile. Then I get the buttons of his shirt undone and hear him hiss out a breath when I touch his ribs.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him again with a seemingly unstoppable fresh burst of tears. “I’m so sorry. I did this. This is my—” Daniel pulls me toward him, wrapping me in his arms and cradling me against his chest while he brushes off my protests that he be careful.
“You didn’t do this. And I’m fine. I’ve had much worse.”
Despite his good intentions, that reminder only seems to make me cry harder. “It—it happened so fast. I di-didn’t know what to do.”
Daniel’s grip on me tightens as he tucks me beneath his chin. “I didn’t either. I thought if he found out he’d just show up at my house. I was more prepared for him to kill me than I was for him to hurt you.”
“Don’t even say that.” I press my face into the damp fabric of Daniel’s button-up shirt, and all I want to do right now is sleep. Pretend today didn’t happen the way it did.
“Isabel,” he murmurs after a few moments pass. “It’s not too late. If you want, I’ll take you over there now. I’ll tell them this was all on me. You can still go home.”
