He doesn’t buckle it slowly; he takes his time running his hand down the seatbelt and shoving it into the spot and thenhe grabs the strap and gives it a tug before it rests between my breasts. He’s staring right at my chest before he slowly looks back up at me. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”
“It’s Lilah.” I snap, changing the subject, getting us away from the torturous territory we’re currently in where I lose my mind and throw myself at him over a seatbelt. “I changed it. Delilah felt too..”
He snorts. “On the nose?”
“Sure.” I shudder. “That.”
He’s still close to me. Too damn close.
The air is thick with tension swirling between us, things said, things left unsaid. I don’t even know if I’m breathing anymore. His eyes flicker to my mouth before he pulls back.
The space between us is filled with secrets and lies.
With truths.
With wounds.
I stare straight ahead and will myself to breath quieter but it’s nearly impossible with him that close to me. How does a person breath quietly anyway? Has it ever even happened in that man’s presence?
Jude taps the steering wheel lazily. “You always this jumpy?”
“I’m in a car with a man who somehow keeps appearing everywhere I am and came back from the dead.” I mumble. “You tell me.”
He snorts. “Portland’s not that big and who the hell told you I died.”
“I saw your casket,” I whisper. “Lower into the ground. Closed casket. Family funeral. My dad said there was an accident and I just...” Tears slide down my cheeks. “He said you were gone.”
He sighs. “Gone as in, I had gone to prison Lilah, what day was it?”
“What?
“What day was it.” He repeats. “My supposed funeral?”
“December fifth.” I whisper. “I’ll never forget because it was pouring rain and?—”
He bursts out laughing, but it’s without humor, only laced with pain. “I can’t decide if you’re lying again or if you’re just that gullible.” He sighs. “That casket wasn’t mine.”
I sit up straight. “Then whose was it?”
He grips the steering wheel, steel glints in his eyes as he puts the car in drive. “My fucking mom’s.”
I gasp and tug at my seatbelt. “What?”
“Relax, Delilah.” His voice drops. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d know.” The last words he says before he pulls directly into oncoming traffic.
6
“There are sins written in ink. There are sins written in whispers. Both can destroy a life.”—The Count of Monte Cristo
JUDE
She lets out a scream and reaches for the door. Horns blast all around us, music to my ears—the horns her screams, let her feel fear the way I felt it, the way I still feel it when I try to close my eyes at night. They don’t go away; they never go away. They’re permanent just like what happened.
There is no band-aid.
No fixes.
Nothing will help. Adrenaline courses through my veins. My mom’s death. Dad’s threats. Lilah’s betrayal. She’s lying again, she has to be, how did she not know my mom died? I’d been so angry that day, angry that Lilah wasn’t fucking there, not even a text, a call, nothing.
