Page 91 of Freeing Ruby

I nod. Intellectually, I know he won’t. But emotionally, it’s not so easy. I do feel better knowing he’s armed beneath his black leather jacket. If someone attacks us, we won’t be helpless.

I place one foot across the threshold, then the other. While I stand there acclimating to the idea of being outside our apartment, Miguel locks up behind me.

“Ready?” he asks. He slips his free arm around me and pulls me close. “Anytime you want to call this off, just say so.”

“I know you do, and I love you for it.” I square my shoulders. “But I’m doing this.” I want Miguel to spend time with his friends, doing the things they like to do. I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, who limits what he can and can’t do.

I want a normal life.

We walk slowly down the hallway to the elevator. Miguel reaches out and pushes the down button. The doors open to reveal two young women dressed to go out for the evening. They’re young, about my age. One blonde, and one with dark hair. I don’t miss their reactions when they get a look at Miguel.

Miguel glances down at me. “Ready?”

I step into the elevator, and he follows me. The doors close behind us, and we turn to face them, leaving the other two girls behind us. I hear them whispering, and one of them snickers quietly. I imagine they’re crushing on Miguel.

Miguel presses the button for the parking garage. The elevator car descends smoothly. We don’t talk. He just tightens his grip on my hand and holds me against him.

The doors open in the main lobby, and the two girls step around us and exit the car. The blonde glances back at Miguel and gives him a blatant come-hither smile. I want to smack her.

Miguel chuckles as the elevator doors close once more, and we continue down to the garage.

The next time the doors open, we’re in the parking garage. At the sight of the expansive, rather dark space—the lines of parked cars—it sends my pulse pounding.

A parking garage. Why does it have to be a parking garage?

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Miguel says. “I should have moved the car to a spot closer to the elevator.”

“No, this is okay. I have to get used to parking garages.”

When I nod to him, Miguel steps out into the cool parking garage. I follow him. When the elevator doors behind us close, I flinch.

“It’s okay,” he says. He nods to our right. “I’m parked over there.” He points to a long row of parked cars. “It’s not that far.”

I’m shaking, but he doesn’t say anything. We walk in silence. I’m hypervigilant, my gaze scanning the rows of cars, looking for someone threatening. Being in this garage is bringing back so many bad memories. Mentally, I shake myself and try to focus on the positive. We’re going to see our friends. This is a big step for me—I’m out and about, doing normal couples things.

Miguel tightens his hold on me. “Take a deep breath.” He demonstrates, taking a slow and deep breath, then letting it out. He nods just ahead of us. “Here we are.”

I stand shaking while Miguel opens the front passenger door. I slide into the seat, staring straight ahead. I grip the seat with both hands while he grabs the seatbelt and pulls it across me. He’s crouching next to me, looking me in the eye. “You’re doing great.”

I nod, but don’t say anything. I don’t trust myself to speak. If I do, I might burst into tears, and I don’t want to do that.

Miguel stands and closes my door. He walks around the back of the car to the driver’s side and slides behind the wheel. A moment later, we’re backing out of the parking spot.

I sit perfectly still, a death grip on my seat, and close my eyes until we’re out of the garage.

Once we’re on the road, I lean my head back in my seat and try to control my breathing. The last thing I need is to have a panic attack. If I did, I know Miguel would turn around and take me back to the apartment. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to be a liability for him.

It’s a twenty-minute drive through Friday evening traffic. When I feel the car come to a stop, I open my eyes and see that we’re parked along the curb under a large tree. It’s still light outside. We’re parked in front of a thrift shop with vintage clothes and purses displayed in the shop windows.

Miguel shuts off the engine and walks around to open my door. I have to force myself to release my grip on my seat so I can step out of the vehicle.

We’re in a commercial district filled with shops and restaurants, so the sidewalks are crowded. The traffic is bumper to bumper, moving slowly.

Miguel puts his arm around me and steers me straight ahead. “It’s just two blocks,” he says.

We walk arm in arm to the bar. There’s a bit of a line forming at the door, so we have to wait a few minutes to get inside.

It’s loud in the bar as TVs compete with a juke box and people conversing. It’s somewhat dark in here, not quite what I expected.

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