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He sneers down at me, and I can’t understand how he can look at me like that after what just happened in the pool. We had sex, and he still wants to hurt me. Then again, I hate him, and I am completely weak for his touch.
“If you don’t know yet, little bird,” he informs me with a grin. “I haven’t been doing a good enough job getting the point across. Thank you for letting me know.” I have never hated anyone the way I hate him right now. Not even Tiana, who is now imitating the way I must have shrieked when she pushed me.
“Can we just go? Please?”
“You think I’m going to let you in my car, drenched like that?” He’s still laughing when his phone rings, and he goes to get it from on top of his pile of clothes.
I can’t really hear him over the other voices, but I see his face changing as he listens to whatever the person on the other end is saying. I don’t think he’s angry, really. Worried?
He moves so fast. He’s like a tornado, grabbing his clothes, pulling them on, and marching over to me. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”
“Wait! You just said I’m not allowed in your car!”
“For fuck’s sake.” He grabs my arm tight enough to make me whimper before dragging me away from the pool, out of the backyard, and past the house. I can barely keep up—but if I fall, he would probably just drag me along the ground.
“What is happening? You’re hurting me!” Why did I think he would care? His grip only tightens. Would it be possible for him to break my arm with one hand? It’s like he’s trying to find out.
He doesn’t say another word until we’re at the truck, with him flinging the passenger door open. “That was my sister’s babysitter. Tia has a fever.”
That’s all the explanation I get, but it’s all I need. I climb in and buckle the belt while he slams the door, then jogs around the front of the truck. He practically slams himself behind the wheel and then we’re gone, with the tires squealing when he floors the gas pedal.
I would tell him we can only help his sister if we get there alive, but I’m afraid of what he would do. I’ve seen him pissed before. Worse than pissed. This is a whole different level. He’s so intense, and I swear I can feel heat coming off him. It’s enough to make me move closer to the door, almost pressing myself against it.
“The babysitter doesn’t live far from here,” he grunts when we stop at a red light. His fingers tap against the wheel, and his jaw ticks. He’s dangerous right now.
“Do we need to stop and get medicine? Like Tylenol or something?”
“We have it at home.” The light hardly turns green before he stomps on the gas pedal again.
We pull up in front of a nice house—maybe not as big as Maya’s, but decent—and the front door opens as soon as we pull up to the curb. “Wait here.” He basically barks the order before hopping out of the truck and jogging up the driveway. Instead of yelling at the woman like I sort of expected—I mean, he’s not exactly stable, and he does seem really upset right now—he only comes back carrying his sister across his arms. Her head is on his shoulder, her eyes closed. As they get closer, I cantell how flushed her cheeks are, even in the dark, with only the streetlights glowing.
Briggs opens the door behind me and places her gently on the back seat. “Can I lie down?” she asks in a soft voice.
“When we get home, nugget.” I barely recognize his voice, gentle and soft. “Right now, I need to buckle you in so you’ll be safe, and I can only do that if you’re sitting up. But it’s only a few minutes’ drive. Just close your eyes, and we’ll be there before you know it.”
He’s like a different person. I’ve always thought he was crazy, or at least that he has a serious personality disorder. The way he goes from hot to cold to hot again. This is a side I’ve never seen. The way he keeps looking back at her over his shoulder as he drives. “Almost there, nugget,” he says after a few minutes. Her whimper says she hears him, but she’s too out of it to care very much.
I guess I’m going home with him. I wouldn’t make Tia wait until we get to the dorm, and I know better than to ask Briggs about it. It’s easier and probably safer to sit here silent as he makes a turn into a long driveway that leads up to a big house with columns out front and shaped topiaries. So this is where he lives.
Was Mom ever here?
Great. Like I need to think about that. It’s weird enough as we pull to a stop in the front courtyard. I’m still wet and uncomfortable when I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb out of the truck. Briggs is too busy worrying about Tia to pay much attention to me. All I get is a single look before he starts for the front steps while holding her close to his chest.
This is really weird. I’m going to see where he lives.
“Briggs!” The shout rings out as we’re standing in the front hall after Briggs kicks the door shut. “Where the fuck have you been? You know, this isn’t some flop house where you can comeand go whenever the hell you want.” The nasty sound sends a chill down my spine, and I really, really wish I wasn’t here.
“Go upstairs right now.” There’s an urgency in Briggs’s voice as he whispers to me. “My room is the second on the right. Go.”
The thing is, it’s already too late. A man who looks a lot like Briggs sort of stumbles out of what I guess is the living room from the little I can see of it. He’s got a glass in one hand, and the ice clinks when he points with the same hand. “What the fuck? Is that who I think it is?”
It takes me a second to realize he’s pointing at me. Staring at me. His face goes red, and he takes one staggering step toward us. “What the fuck is she doing here? What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands. The way he blinks like he can’t quite see Briggs reminds me of Buck, how he gets when he’s drunk.
Briggs scoffs, then starts for the stairs without saying a word. I follow close behind, almost clinging to his side. If anybody ever told me I would be relying on Briggs to keep me safe, I would probably die laughing. But here I am, hoping his dad doesn’t decide to attack or anything as we rush up the stairs. Once we get to the second room on the right, I can breathe easier.
Only Briggs doesn’t stop. He slows down a little and jerks his chin toward the door. “You can dry off in the bathroom on your left once you get inside.” He continues down the hall to the next bedroom, and I can hear him talking softly to Tia, before the sound of his dad’s angry shouts from downstairs drowns that out. I duck into the bedroom and close the door—once again, since when is Briggs my protector?
His room is nicer than I imagined. Cleaner, neater. Wait, what am I saying? Somebody probably keeps it clean for him. There are plenty of fluffy, lavender scented towels in the linen closet. It’s a relief to peel off my wet clothes, which I drape over the shower curtain rod to dry.
