39
Evan
If someone would have told me I'd be sitting in a police station with my sort-of-girlfriend as she grins at me after being stuck in a room with a murderer, I would have laughed in their face.
But that’s my reality.
Since we talked to the police, explaining everything we know, as well as my dad being brought in for questioning for meddling in something he shouldn’t have, Scarlett hasn’t been able to stop beaming. She’s lucky that dude didn’t attack her. But even as my heart is still racing, she’s basically bouncing off the plastic chairs as I try to make sure she’s not in a state of shock right now and that she hasn’t been injured.
“You told him to shoot you?” I gawk, staring at her, still checking her face for any bruises or injuries. Her whole face lights up again, those deep brown eyes shimmering.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling wide, bearing all of her teeth. I shake my head at her but then I notice the cut on her lip. I run my finger across it, the finest bit of blood coating the pad of my finger.
“Did he do this to you?” I ask, gruffly.
“No. I bit it when I was hitting him across the head. You should’ve seen the way I-” When she sees I'm not smiling with her she stops, her shoulders sagging slightly as she pouts at me. As much as I'm proud of her, she gave me the fright of my life when I got the call from her mom telling me that Lucas had taken her phone. She was already on her way down to Denver when she called me, so I had to get here as soon as I could. “What's wrong? Were you worried about me, Branson?” she coos.
“Of course, I was worried about you, you idiot. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt or worse. He’s amurderer.” I punch out those last few syllables with a poke to her cheek, but she swats my hand away.
“Yeah, but I'm fine now. See,” she says, standing up, wiggling her whole body for extra emphasis. A few people in the station turn around to us, shaking their heads. I grip on her arm, pulling her back down to her seat, resting my hand on her thigh as she looks up at me, a little confused.
I keep my eyes on her thigh, stroking my thumb on the fabric of her leggings. She places her hand on top of mine, squeezing it gently.
“When I put the pieces together, I was so scared, Scarlett. I thought this was going to be the day that I lose you and that thought fucking terrified me. I should’ve got to you sooner,” I say, looking back up at her. Her mouth opens, but I cut her off. “And don’t you dare tell me that you can handle yourself because that guy was, like, twice the size of you.”
She squeezes my hand again, smiling softly. “But Icanhandle myself. You saw it with your own eyes.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn't want to protect you anyway.”
She leans forward. Even though we’ve been in the hospital and in the police station for hours, she still smells like herself. She presses a kiss to my cheek and when she pulls back she’s smiling, her cheekbones high and her eyes squinting.
I knew it already. Of course, I did. But after being so incredibly proud of her, watching her handle the questions from the police with ease, the pure joy on her face as she recited the story, I realise now more than ever, that I'm in love her.
* * *
“So, it was true? Your family is still looking into it?” she asks me when we finally get back to Salt Lake, driving back to my house after a longer than necessary plane journey.
All we’ve done since we got back is retell our stories to each other. She tells me about how she ended up in the hospital room with a murderer and I tell her about how my dad went behind my back to continue digging into Scarlett’s family and how he found out about Lucas. Part of me is grateful that he did so I could get to her, but I didn’t want her to think that I was trying to do it behind her back.
As much as she wanted to talk with her dad, the doctors thought it was best for his recovery if she went home since she is still in some state of shock over what happened. It’s going to take a few weeks for Mateo to get back on his feet again. I promised her dinner so I'm going to give it to her.
“Yes and I didn’t know, I swear. If I did, I would've told you. They said they dropped it, but I think my dad must have kept digging from the funeral,” I explain to her, glancing over as I drive. I swear I’ve started to become her personal chauffeur no matter how protective she is about this car.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?” I look back at her and she’s watching me drive. Well, she’s watching my hands on the steering wheel.
She shrugs. “I was so scared, Evan. Deep down I was petrified, but I was trying to be strong. To be strong for my dad, for my mom, for you. For everyone. And if I didn’t…”
“But you did,” I say with certainty. I take one of my hands off the steering wheel and rest it on her thigh instead, squeezing it gently. “Scarlett, you’re a lot stronger and tougher than you think. You always put on this confident persona, this armour, but it’s okay to be scared sometimes, you know. If you ever forget that I’m here to tell you. Every day.”
“Every day?” she asks, laughing a little.
“Every day,” I repeat.
Even after all that, she’s still acting awkward around me. As soon as we got into the empty house, she kept her distance. Even when the food came, she stayed in the living room, her knees pulled up to her chest. She’s either plotting to kill me or overthinking. I know better than to disturb her, so I start to dish out the food in the kitchen.
“It's just food, Scarlett,” I call through the hatch in the kitchen. I hear her bark out a laugh over the sound of the TV.
