Page 11 of I’ll Find You

He glances from me, then to the dead dashboard, and back again. “What’s wrong with your car?” he asks.

I shrug helplessly. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be stranded out here.”

Sighing, I press my fingertips to my temples, rubbing slow circles at the corner of my forehead. My eyes squeeze shut as I try to think. God. Should I call Maxwell?

I pause, unsure. Despite our imploding relationship, he has always been a constant presence in medical school, my friend long before he was anything more. It’s only recently that things have turned awkward, his grades slipping, and his drinking increasing with his frequent outings. We all have our demons we keep locked up. Maybe Maxwell has his own secrets he keeps buried.

He might not even be home. He isn’t expecting me for another two hours. That’s when my shift usually ends. And lately, even when he is home, it doesn’t feel like I’m coming back to one. I exhale slowly, keeping the frustration at bay, the sound swallowed by the cold air. Not wanting to take it out on Alex, I’m painfully aware that he’s standing there, watching and waiting. I can’t shake the feeling that he sees every crack I’ve worked so hard to hide.

“Seems maybe you need a new battery,” Alex murmurs, breaking the tension.

I tilt my head back, staring up at the dull grey sky, my eyelids dragging shut in a slow, hard blink before I look at him again. I expect impatience or judgment at the very least—something cutting that I can push back at him with. But there’s only concern in his expression. It makes something in my chest tighten with a small, unwelcome ache. I swallow down the instinct to snap at him, to hide behind sarcasm. He’s only trying to help. He even looks worried. And when I meet his gaze, I remind myself that his father means the world to me, that this should make accepting his help easier. It doesn’t.

“Yeah,” I finally admit. “It hasn’t been holding a charge. I had to jump it this morning with the portable battery pack I keep at home.” The words come out clipped and defensive as I brace for the criticism I'm sure is coming. I wait for him to tell me I should’ve replaced it already, or that I shouldn’t have let it get this bad. But he doesn’t do that either. He just nods once, unbothered, and then gestures toward his car.

“I’m heading out,” he says. “I can drive you to get a battery, bring it back, and even install it for you if you want.” The offer is kind. Too kind. Because kindness always comes with strings attached, and I don’t like owing anyone anything. So I shake my head.

“No, that’s okay. I just want to get home. I can have it towed there. I’ve got free towing with my policy, and battery replacement, too. They’ll come to my place, test it, and install one if that’s the problem,” I rush out the words, feeling I need to explain that I have it all covered, so he doesn’t insist on helping me more than I’m comfortable with.

He hesitates, hand sliding to the back of his neck as he glances around the nearly empty lot, the only other car belonging to my boss. His jaw works once before he speaks.

“Can I at least give you a lift?” he asks, the offer sounding unsure, as if he’s bracing himself for me to say no.

I’m ready to refuse. Ready to tell him no, that I don’t want him knowing where I live, that this is all too much, too close. The words rise in my throat, only to stall there, suspended on my next breath.

And instead, I hear myself say, “Sure. Why not?”

Chapter

Nine

Rose

The ride to my place is torturously long. If being near him at Dani’s house with Dr. Flores silently watching every interaction between us was difficult, this is unbearable. He’s so close that every breath carries the woodsy scent of him until it feels impossible to separate it from my own. Heat erupts across my cheeks, spilling down my throat, and unfolding in my chest in one continuous flare. It feels as if my whole body is overheating, caught between the warmth radiating off him and the crackling electricity thickening the air between us, intensifying with every intake of breath.

We stop at a light before merging onto the interstate that will carry us a few exits north. The engine idles softly, its rhythmic hum filling the silence. For an instant, time stands still, suspending us in this charged moment as if even the universe recognizes something happening between us.

I glance at him, studying his profile before I can stop myself. His jaw is sharply cut, the line of it shadowed and defined. His nose is straight, giving his face a severity that would be intimidating on anyone else. The faint dusting of stubble darkens his cheeks, catching the passing headlights that whisk by, softening nothing. And when his obsidian eyes lock on mine, they hold me captive, rendering me incapable of another coherent thought. These features make him striking at first glance. He isn’t looking at me now, but I know he feels my stare, because the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. Still, I don’t turn away.

The traffic light seems to take eons to change. Then he turns slowly, giving me his full attention, as his gaze locks onto mine. My lips part on instinct, as my breath catches in my throat. The space between us feels small as his eyes trace my face with a reverent intent. His gaze probes further, piercing past skin and bone, searching for something deeper in my soul. The fine hairs along my arms and the back of my neck rise in response. It's a kind of intensity that steals your breath because it feels like remembering something I shouldn't know.

My breath stutters, rising unevenly in my chest. His attention follows the movement, slow and deliberate. There’s something intense and consuming in his eyes, something that pulls me toward him until the edges of me blur and I can’t tell where I end and he begins. The most terrifying part? I’ve never felt more seen in my entire life, and I’m not sure I ever want to look away.

His arm moves, lifting slightly, and I flinch, turning toward the window, biting my nail like an idiot as I force myself to look anywhere but at him. He clears his throat, and the spell is broken.

“Mind if I play some music?” His voice is smooth and gravelly, rolling through the car's small space like the slow heat of a late summer night.

The moment breaks, but the heat lingers. My skin remains slick, burning with embarrassment. Of course, he wasn’t going to touch me. Touch my face, my cheek, my mouth. God, get a grip, Rose. “Yeah, sure. Go for it,” I mutter, trying for indifference, even as my pulse refuses to cooperate.

He accelerates onto the ramp, one hand resting on the wheel while the other taps the screen. A playlist loads, and a moment later, gritty guitar riffs of Rob Zombie’s “More Human Than Human” pour through the speakers. The music fills the car, vibrating through the cramped space between us. Alex’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, keeping tempo. He looks completely at ease, the hypnotic pulse of the song syncing with the bone-white dashed lines of the highway as they slip past along our drive. I am anything but, imagining how those hands would feel. I swallow hard. The music should help, but it doesn’t. It just heightens everything.

He settles back in the seat, reclining slightly, one hand resting loosely at the top of the wheel while the other lifts to adjust the volume. The veins along his forearm flex beneath his skin. They are subtle, defined, and way too distracting. God. Why am I noticing how toned his arms are? I swallow hard. It’s because I’m trained to notice anatomy, I tell myself, grasping for logic. It’s muscle memory. Nothing more than that. But even as I think it, I feel the lie hidden underneath. That’s when I realize he asked me a question, and I still haven’t answered.

“Is the volume okay?" he asks without directly looking at me.

“Oh. Um, yeah,” I whisper, though it barely sounds like my voice at all.

We exit the interstate about ten minutes later, the world outside blurring into familiar turns. I'm just beginning to wonder how he seems to know exactly where I live when he cuts me off.