Page 29 of Vital Signs
Misha's hand left the steering wheel, catching my wrist before I could pull away. His thumb pressed against my pulse point. Racing, despite trying to stay calm. He held it there for three heartbeats, four, five. Long enough for me to understand how steady his own pulse was in comparison.
"I don't want clean," he said, releasing me to grip the wheel again. "I want real."
The words shouldn't have hit like they did. Shouldn't have made something crack open in my chest, raw and exposed.
I turned away, staring out the window at the dark Ohio countryside rushing past. Tried to pretend my hands weren't shaking worse than before.
We drove through the winding back roads in relative silence until Misha suddenly gasped. "Oh mon Dieu!"
I tensed immediately, scanning the road ahead for danger. "What? What's wrong?"
"Regarde!" He pointed excitedly out the windshield at a gray squirrel perched on a fence post, tail twitching as it watched our headlights. "Look at his little hands! And that fluffy tail!"
I stared at him, then at the completely ordinary squirrel, then back at him. "You're... excited about a squirrel?"
"We don't have them in France!" His whole face had lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning. "I've only seen them in American movies. He's so fat and fluffy!"
The disconnect was staggering. This man had tracked me down with a fucking GPS device. Had watched me beat someone unconscious for pocket change without flinching. Had talked about his fighter ex-boyfriend like violence was foreplay. And now he was losing his shit over suburban wildlife like it was the most magical thing he'd ever seen.
"They're basically rats with better PR," I said. "Most people think they're pests."
"Pests?" Misha looked genuinely offended. "Look at him! He's magnifique!"
The squirrel, apparently bored with our attention, scampered up a tree and disappeared. Misha watched it go before straightening in his seat with a small sigh, like he'd just witnessed something profound instead of rodent-tier fauna.
I didn't know what to do with that. With him. This beautiful, dangerous man could switch from predator to child in the space of a heartbeat, and somehow that made him more dangerous. Because I wanted both. Wanted the predator who'd tracked me down and the man who could find joy in a fucking squirrel.
Wanted him in ways that had nothing to do with the investigation or justice for Tyler. Ways that scared me more than withdrawal ever had.
Because chemicals were predictable. You knew what they'd do to you, how they'd make you feel, when they'd destroy you. But this? Misha? He was chaos wrapped in expensive cologne and perfect bone structure, and I had no idea how to protect myself from wanting him.
Didn't even know if I wanted to.
The truck stop was exactly what I'd expected. Fluorescent lights, diesel fumes, long-haul drivers grabbing coffee and questionable food. But it had showers, and right now that was all I needed.
“Here.” Misha counted out a few bills and held them out. “This should cover it.”
I stared at the money without taking it.
Misha sighed and forced the bills into my hand. “Think of it as payment for your assistance tonight. You go shower. I'll wait out here. Take your time."
I stared at him, trying to read his expression in the harsh overhead lights. What did he really want from me? And would he actually be here when I came back out?
There was something predatory in the way he watched me, something calculating that should have set off every survival instinct I had left. Smart money said I should walk away from whatever game he was playing. Keep walking until I hit the interstate and thumb a ride back to camp.
But I'd been living on borrowed time for four years now, and the thrill of not knowing if he'd still be here when I came out was better than any high I'd chased recently.
Only one way to find out.
The walk to the building was a test. Of what, I wasn't sure. Whether I could still trust anyone. Whether he'd stay. Whether I wanted him to badly enough to be disappointed when he didn't.
With every step away from the van, I expected to hear the engine start. Expected him to drive away, leaving me here with thirty dollars and the knowledge that I'd been stupid enough to hope.
But when I reached the building's entrance and looked back, he was still there, still silhouetted in the van, backlit by the dome light, watching me.
My stomach twisted with something that wasn't hunger, wasn't withdrawal. Something infinitely more dangerous.
Want.
