Page 87 of The Sound in Silence

I message and show him my phone.

“And if something happens? There’s a reason my parents would lose their fucking minds if they learned I do this, and have been for a few years. It’s dangerous. One flash, one hit, and done.”

I hike my brow. I’m more than aware of what occurs in accidents.

He paces away, growling, his hands dragging through his hair. He’s not winning this though.

Me

Please, Erico. I’m trying to learn more about my husband. Trying to be a good wife. I want to see your interests.

He takes his phone from his pocket, to read his most recent text. Instead of turning around to talk, he messages back.

Erico

You being aware of them is enough.

Me

Not for me.

I walk toward him, resting my palm against his back.Please,I say in my head. My lips even form the words. Sound doesn’t follow, but I wish it did. I wish I could be better—try harder to speak with him.

He turns abruptly, his hands clamping on my upper arms so tight, I nearly drop my phone in surprise. “Fine,” he says in a tone implying it’s not at all. “The races are quick. It’s a thrill and a payout from the betting pot. I’ve never had a near-miss and I won’t this time either.”

The facts he lists seem to be more for himself than me.

“Tomorrow. Nine-thirty, be ready.” His gaze drops to my bare thighs peeking beneath the sundress. “Not a dress. Pants. Now, excuse me. I have a lesson with Sebastian.”

He walks away, shaking his head.

A therapist at the medical centre once encouraged systematic desensitization. It was with her support, getting back into a car as a passenger was doable. It’s how I know tomorrow night will be fine. No lights, no traffic, and more importantly, no evil stepfather. Just Erico and me, and a quick drive.

It’ll be fun. I’ll consider this another stage in the desensitization process.

Erico

Imust be out of my fucking mind.

Racing has never scared me. I’m in control, I win. My cars are made for this. It’s an easy and thrilling time. At one of my last races, ironically, I did imagine Ariella in my passenger seat—for a brief second before I remembered all the reasons it wouldn’t happen.

Guilt’s a bitch. Our three-hour drive to Brooklyn, where the race is being held, will be at speeds faster than the legal posted limit, as a test. If she can’t manage that, we head home. If she can, then I’ll be ten percent more comfortable with what’s about to occur.

I park my McLaren by the front of the house while waiting for her to finish getting ready. If she obeys and puts on what I’ve laid out on the bed, then she’ll be exiting the house in baggy jeans and one of my hoodies. Where we’re going, I want her covered.

The sky above, though nighttime, grows darker. Grey clouds overshadowing the moon, threatening rain the weather app warned me about minutes ago. All day, it’s been clear skies, but obviously, the weather’s decided now to be a dick. I’ve raced in rain before, but it’s never ideal, and with Ariella in the car, it’s even less so. The roads get slicker, the stakes higher.

I lean against the hood to wait her out and call Caladin, in the meantime, to update him. He’ll be there tonight, as he frequently is, making the deals and amping up the betting.

“Hey!” A loud thumping in the background slowly fades. Presumably, he’s turning down his music. “Running home to change and then heading over. You on the road? You’re not exactly in the city, so if you want to make the time, better get on it.”

“Home. Waiting for Ariella to finish getting ready.”

Silence.Cough.“What? She’s coming?”

“She insisted.” Much to my chagrin.

“The silent woman insisted?” he asks with doubt.

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