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I should have seen this coming, and I was disappointed in myself for letting my guard down so easily around him.
Dammit!
“Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I didn’t respond because I couldn’t. I was concentrating too hard on not crying.
“Shannon, I didn’t—” Johnny started to say but stopped short. He rubbed his jaw and then dropped his hand back on the wheel. “I don’t—” He stalled again, this time shaking his head. “Forget it.”
I didn’t probe or push him to finish whatever he had been trying to say. I didn’t want to hear it.
Retracting from the current source of my confusion and frustration—which was my designated driver—I focused all my efforts on ignoring him and keeping my emotions at bay.
If I could jump out of the car right now, I would, but he was a fast driver and I didn’t fancy my chances of surviving the postjump impact.
“What are you thinking?” Johnny finally said, making a left turn onto my estate.
It was a deep hilly ascent to my house with several hundred attached houses running side by side on either side of the road, mine at the very top.
Many of the houses were boarded up, others were dilapidated with untended gardens—my own included—but right now, I was too annoyed to care what he thought.
I swung my gaze to glare at him. “You want to know what I’m thinking?”
Johnny glanced sideways, eyes full of heat and barely contained frustration, and gave me a clipped nod before turning his attention back to the road.
“Fine,” I snapped, blinking back the familiar sting of tears as I proceeded to tell him exactly what I was thinking. “I think you’re paranoid about people finding out you’re injured because you know you shouldn’t be playing.”
The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to check myself. But instead of apologizing or trying to take them back, I surged forward, shocking myself with the emotion in my tone.
“I think you’re in denial about your healing process and I know you’re hurt. You limp at school. Did you know that? All the time. Others mightn’t notice it, but I do. I see it and you do it all the time! So, I think you’re playing a dangerous game with your body, Johnny. And I think if your doctors knew how much pain you are actually in, there’s no way they would have signed off and released you to play.”
I had no idea where this was coming from, but the words were bursting to come out of my mouth so I let them spill.
“I think this was a terrible mistake. I should have never accepted a lift from you. I think you overreacted tonight. I think you handled yourself terribly. And I think it would be best if you and I didn’t talk anymore.”
I blew out a huge breath, chest heaving from the sheer height of vocal exertion. My face was burning with heat, but I was proud of myself for getting that off my chest. It was uncharacteristic of me to have an outburst of this magnitude with anyone outside of my family, but I was glad. I guess it spoke volumes that I felt heated and weirdly comfortable enough around this boy to lose my shit, but I was too worked up to delve into the workings of that particular conundrum. For now, I would remain stewing in my apprehension and disappointment.
“Listen, I appreciate your concern,” he finally bit out, pausing for a moment before adding, “At least I think that’s what that was. But it’s not necessary. I’ve got it handled—”
“You clearly don’t,” I shot back, interrupting him.
“You have no fucking clue of what you’re talking about!” he snapped back. “I get that you mean well, but I know my own shit. I know my own body.”
“Of course, I don’t,” I muttered, turning my face away to look out the passenger window. “Like most girls.”
“You don’t,” he continued to argue. “You don’t know me, Shannon.”
All out of steam, I exhaled a deflating breath.
“You’re right, Johnny,” I whispered in agreement. “I don’t know you.”
“Stop doing that!” he snapped, running an impatient hand through his hair. “Christ.”
“Doing what?”
“Twisting my words,” he shot back angrily. “Not giving me a chance to explain. It’s a dick girl move and I can’t—fuck!” he roared, slamming on the brakes to avoid a rogue bicycle that was strewn in the middle of the road. “For Christ’s sake. What the hell is wrong with people? Does the road look like a goddamn place to park a bike?”
“You can let me out here,” I stated flatly, unclicking my seat belt. “I can walk the rest of the way.”
