Page 6 of Grind
My whole body starts to shake.Not again.
With a very deliberate effort, I draw in a breath, ignoring the rasping in my lungs and the ache that’s melted into one full-bodied experience. I can take care of myself. I repeat it silently to myself, over and over again.
But I don’t really have anywhere I can go. If I hadn’t lost my tips, I could have gotten a cheap motel room. There’s just a few dollars in my wallet–that wouldn’t even cover a subway ride. No matter how many times I tell myself otherwise, it’s the truth.
“What’s wrong?” Connor looks intently into my eyes, his own radiating confusion and concern. Little crinkles form at the edges from his intense focus.
It’s too much. The nearness of his body, the kindness in his eyes, and that feeling of desolate emptiness. I’ve gone to the very edge of what I can handle, but I’ve run out of options. If only I hadn’t felt that momentary relief, hadn’t been reminded of kindness that’s seemed so far out of reach for the last year. I might have held it together, but not tonight.
There’s nothing left. No hope, no energy, no respite. Hot tears pour down my cheeks again, as I let out a strangled sob.
Instead of moving away from me, Connor steps toward me tentatively and puts a gentle hand on my arm. It’s so fast, instinctive, maybe a little possessive. Those steady blue eyes never leave my face, and for an instant, they’re an oasis as I’m lost in this desert of fear. I can’t quite make sense of it. But part of me clings to it anyways.
There are so few things I can cling to.
“He knows where I live. I don’t know what to do.” I finally manage a tight whisper between wracking, horrifying sobs.
I can’t even afford a motel room tonight. The next sob turns to a hiccup as I steel myself and try to force it down. More air. Feel the ground solid under my feet. Curl my hands into fists.
All the techniques that I use to center myself, to keep the anxiety at bay, aren’t holding it together. My endless scenario planning has brought me to the moment I fear most – the one where I’ve run out of ideas.
Sully’s eyes move between Connor and me. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, and after exchanging a look with his boss that I can’t decipher, backs out of the room. The door shuts softly behind him.
Connor and I are alone, standing inches apart in the huge empty room. He’s miles away, but still feels like he’s my lifeline. Some distant buzzing in another part of my brain warns me that I need to be careful.
Dark hair, those unforgettable eyes, a square jaw and a scar down his cheek that’s so faint he must have gotten it as a child. I just focus on the planes of his face while he regards me for a long time.
A series of emotions cross his face at lightning speed. Then he gives one short, sharp nod.
Connor’s blue eyes widen and take on a stronger hint of brightness, of interest, of kindness. His hands gently come to rest on my shoulders. They’re so big they span them and then some.
“Don’t be afraid, Ava. I’ve got you now.”
Staring into his face, I try to read what’s there. What’s underneath. My gut says I can trust this man. My heart just hopes I’m right.
3
Connor
Fuck, this is a complication I do not need.
Glancing away from the road, I cut my eyes toward the beautiful woman in the passenger seat, as I drive my Mercedes through the back streets of Boston way too fast. Checking again, I make sure she’s buckled in for the second time.
My hands grip the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white. My shoulders are hard knots of tension, and that muscle on the left side of my neck twitches. The one that tells me I’m too wired for my own damn good.
I need to relax.
She’s safe.
Everything’s just moving too fast and I can’t afford to lose control here.
Ava. She’s curled up in the passenger seat, her eyes closed. She must be too on edge to sleep, but she looks more relaxed than she has all night. She practically vibrated with terror earlier, but now she’s breathing evenly and her face looks almost peaceful.
Except for the damn bruise that’s forming on her cheek.
The urge to destroy that little asshole who gave it to her surfaces again, bitter bile and the need to fight all too familiar. Deep breath, Doyle. I didn’t recognize him in the dark, being too focused on Ava. Rage kept me from registering that Brooks fucking Stacy was her assailant.
Rage. That’s all I feel when someone hurts a woman. Complete and blinding rage.
