He glances across at me, his expression softening. “It was the song we talked about, and also the journey we’re on right now, Starlight. The show must go on,” he simply states.
The song wraps around me, heavy and defiant, Freddie singing about masks, pain, and carrying on. I chew another Red Vine just to keep my hands busy, my nerves sparking hotter with every mile.
I know exactly what Chase is saying.
The stupid guy is always right.
I know I should move this along, but I keep dragging it out, stalling in a way that’s bordering on ridiculous.
I need to get Doughnut home to his rightful parents.
By Brentwood, the sun’s dropping low, and traffic snarls thick as molasses. Horns blare, lights blur, the freeway a crawl of metal and noise, and this time it’s not me delaying us on purpose, but peak hour. My leg cramps from stop-and-go, and my hands are slick on the wheel. My chest feels tight, my fingers shaking, like I can’t get comfortable in my own skin.
“Pull over,” Chase demands, quiet but firm.
“No.”
“Starlight…” He shifts toward me, his voice threaded with warning. “You’re tweaking. Look at your hands.”
I glance down, and they are trembling against the wheel, the Red Vine wrapper crinkled and torn in my grip.
Too muchsugar.
Too muchhim.
My pulse kicks, chest hot with panic, and for the first time, I want nothing more than to let go.
He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t smirk, he simply nods toward the shoulder. “Let me drive. You’ll feel better.”
Groaning, I cave, cursing under my breath, pulling to the side of the road. And with utter annoyance racing through me, we swap, me sulking into the passenger seat while he slides behind the wheel with infuriating ease.
“Comfortable?” I snap, arms crossed tight over my chest.
“Extremely. Besides, I know where we need to go from here anyway.” He stretches out, one hand loose on the wheel, the other draped across the console like he owns the space between us. His grin is smug, but his tone softens. “Relax, I’ve got you.”
And God help me, I do. I unclench by degrees, my sugar-crashing body finally surrendering to the quiet steadiness ofhim. Plus, the smug asshole is right, I don’t know the final destination, so it makes sense for him to drive the rest of the way.
If only for me to stare at his massive guns while driving. Good Lord!
The Valley greets us at sunset, the sky painted in streaks of fire and violet. Doughnut stands tall in the bed again, like a silhouette cut against the horizon. The crown jewel of this ridiculous day. I slip him my last Red Vine, my throat tight with something I don’t want to name.
Chase drives, quiet, steady, eyes flicking toward me like he knows exactly why I’ve dragged every mile of this road out as long as I could. Because once we stop, Doughnut won’t be ours anymore.
And maybe, just maybe, neither will this spell between us.
As we pull down a long, dusty road, Chase’s demeanor begins to tense. I smirk, sitting taller in my chair, and spin to face him. “Why Hallmark, you look positively puckered.”
The corner of his lips turns up slightly as he side-eyes me slightly. “Puckered?”
“You know, you look like you’re puckering your asshole.”
He tilts his head, letting out a long exhale. “Yeah, well…” He doesn’t finish his sentence as we pull up to a set of gates, and he tilts his head to them.
I turn with a bright smile to see what the fuss is about, and instantly my heart thuds into my chest as a man wearing a biker cut steps up to my window, aiming a gun at me.
Asshole. Puckered.
Chapter Five
