Page 76 of Broken Breath
Shit.
I grip the steering wheel and glance at Finn, but the only change in him is that his grin is impossibly bigger.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I mutter in my deep voice,trying to recover. “There are germs everywhere. Contagion central.”
“Good thing I have more antibodies than you in my advanced age.”
I huff, but he’s already unslinging his backpack and unzipping it.
“You brought your entire pharmacy?” I ask, eyebrows raised as he pulls out a gallon-sized ziplock bag crammed with meds.
“Travel essentials,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Painkillers, electrolytes, anti-nausea, anti-inflammatories…” He digs deeper. “Ah… decongestants and cold meds because I’m a gentleman.”
I blink at him. “You serious?”
“You said Dane has a cold, didn’t you?”
I nod, still staring.
Finn just shrugs. “Then let’s fix it.” And before I can say another word, he’s walking down the narrow aisle toward the back of the bus like he belongs there.
Because elite athletes, especially the men, have one thing in common—none of them believe they need an invitation. They move through the world like everything will make space for them, expecting that doors will open, walls will bend, and people will say yes just because they showed up. And the worst part? They’re usually right, especially the charming ones, and the ones who mean well and don’t even realize how much space they take up.
First Luc. Then Mason. And now Finn, who’s just waltzing down the middle of my life, dispensing meds and comfort like it’s his job to fix everything.
I should be furious, but instead, I sit there in the driver’s seat and let him.
There are low murmurs, some coughing from Dane, and then the crinkle of packaging.
Sounds like Dane put up as much of a fight as I did.
Finn reappears a minute later and sinks into the passenger seat, which is,thankfully,a row behind mine. One row, one breath of space between us. If he were any closer, I don’t think I could keep my cool.
My eyes are on the wide rearview mirror above the dash, watching as he pulls a small bottle of disinfectant from his backpack and methodically cleans his hands. Then he stretches out with a satisfied smile on his face, arms folded behind his head, his long legs propped slightly to the side so they don’t crowd the aisle. I tear my eyes away from the mirror, wondering why he looks like he’s settling in for a damn road trip. Feeling the weight of his presence, I glance over my shoulder and find him watching me.
He’s not smiling anymore.
He’s just watching.
Waiting.
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, having no idea what to do with the heat blooming behind my aching ribs.
“Planning on hitching a ride to Austria?” I ask, trying to keep my tone level.
“Only if you’re going that way,” he jokes.
“You should flee while you still can. We’ve got a long road ahead.”
He just chuckles. “Eight hours. You should probably get started.”
“I will. As soon asyou’re gone.”
Instead of moving, he nods toward the front window, and I follow his gaze. Right on cue, his red team bus pulls out of the lot, disappearing around the bend.
He leans in toward me and murmurs, “Looks like if you kick me out, I won’t get to Austria.”
My lungs hiccup.
