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His huff of annoyance is so loud, and the glare he flashes at me when he slowly turns to face me makes me want to pee my pants.
“Home,” he growls again.
“Didn’t you get my text? I thanked you for the offer, but my roommate is going to be in town soon, so I booked a hotel.”
“No,” he snarls, shaking his head before spinning around and continuing to walk away.
“No? No, what?” I stammer.
Sighing, he stops walking, turns around, and marches back to me. “No, you won’t be staying at a fucking hotel,” he snaps, making me take yet another step back until I’m teetering on the edge of the curb, my arms windmilling furiously to stop myself from falling and ending up on my butt in the street.
He moves so quickly I don’t even have time to flinch before his fingers are wrapped around my wrist, and he’s pulling me off the edge and frog-marching me down the sidewalk to where he abandoned my case.
“Oscar, stop. What are you doing? Let go of me,” I call quietly.
“It’s Oz,” he growls, tightening his hold on my wrist until we reach a huge, black Jeep Gladiator pickup truck parked at the curb. Somehow, without releasing his hold on me, he lifts my case up and into the truck bed without showing any signs of exertion.
Grabbing the door handle with his now free hand, he opens the passenger door, then lifts me off my feet and deposits me into the truck, leaning over me and strapping my seat belt in place before he closes the door and quickly climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Osca—Oz.” I correct myself, sucking in a deep breath and hoping my fear isn’t too obvious. “I’ve booked a hotel. I appreciate you offering to allow me to stay, but I’d rather not inconvenience you. We’re strangers, and my friend will be here in a couple of days. It’ll be easier if I just stayed at a hotel till then.”
“No,” he says, pressing a button on the dash that makes the door locks click into place.
My mouth falls open as I twist to look at the door, my hands instinctively reaching for the handle. Before I can curl my fingers around it, the truck engine starts, and we pull away from the curb so quickly I’m slung back into my seat, my hand falling away from the door.
“Osca—Oz,” I pant, panic making my voice even smaller than normal.
“I don’t like this any more than you do, but I said you could stay with me, so you’re fucking staying with me.”
Dumbfounded, my lips fall open, and I start to speak, but he turns his head and flashes me a look that’s so reminiscent of the way he’d look at me before he’d do something cruel to me when we were kids that all of my words melt to dust on my tongue.
Dropping my gaze to my lap, I feel like a scared little girl hoping that the monster beside me will just go away if I make myself as small and unobtrusive as possible. After several long moments when neither of us speaks, I pluck up the courage to look over my shoulder. The lights of the small town I arrived in only minutes ago are getting smaller and smaller as we leave the hustle and bustle of the town behind us and turn onto a quiet, dark road.
Swallowing the lump of fear that’s filling my throat, I force myself to speak. “Osc—Oz, I really think it’d be better?—”
“No,” he interrupts. “You’re staying with me, end of.”
There’s something so final and unarguable about the tone of his voice that silences me, and I become the scared little girl I was the last time we saw each other. Only I’m not twelve anymore. I’m twenty-six, an adult, and more than capable of saying no to this man and meaning it.
Well, in theory, I am. In practice, I’m not really very good at expressing my opinions at all. I’m great at my job, but in my personal life, I’m so non-confrontational that sometimes I feel like a bit of a doormat.
Which is probably why instead of throwing open the door and insisting Oscar stop the truck, I sit placidly in my seat while we get further away from civilization and my hotel. My fingers are shaking as I pluck at the fabric of my shirt, twisting and untwisting the fabric in an effort to calm down and center my thoughts.
I do not want to be here—not that I’m even sure where here is. I don’t have a car, and we’ve been climbing uphill and away from the town for the last ten minutes.
My chest starts to tighten, and when I pull in a breath, it feels too shallow and ineffectual. Having a panic attack in the car with Oscar is completely out of the question. It’s been years since I had one, but when I do, I need a calming presence, not a terrifying one. There’s no way I’ll be able to pull myself out of a panic spiral and slow my breathing if he’s looking at me and judging me for being just as much of a pathetic little girl now as he accused me of being back then.
Pinching the skin on my hand with my nails, I focus on the pain and will my lungs to expand and allow the air I desperately need to stop me from toppling over the edge and passing out to fill my lungs.
Thankfully, it works, and I spend the rest of the drive focused on slow, controlled breathing, right up until we slow to a stop outside a house. A part of me had been worried he was taking me to the middle of nowhere, but despite being at least twenty minutes from town, we’re parked in front of a row of houses, like a mini suburb.
While I’m taking in our surroundings and trying to figure out how the hell to get back to town, Oscar kills the engine and climbs out of the truck without even glancing in my direction. I don’t want him to think I’m waiting for him to open my door, so I fumble with the seat belt, eventually managing to unclip it and throw open the door just as Oscar pulls my suitcase from the truck bed.
“I can get that,” I say, pointing to my case that’s gripped tightly in Oscar’s hand.
His lip curls as he looks me up and down. “I seriously doubt it,” he sneers. “Come on.”
Glancing down at myself, I try to figure out what he’s finding so distasteful, but other than being travel creased and tired, I don’t think I look too bad. I’ve been on a bus for over twenty-six hours, and I’ve dressed for comfort over style, so I’m in super soft cream sweatpants and a matching cropped hoodie with my new jacket over the top and Ugg boots on my feet.
