Page 99 of Go Back to December

This is like a knife slowly twisting in my gut.

Allie.

A strangled choke escapes me. Baz glances up. His eyes lock on me. He’s too far away for me to tell if that expression is surprise.

Or something else.

My feet won’t allow me to stay to find out.

Luiza begs me to wait, but I bolt across the deck, through the house and onto the street before Nat King Cole gets to the second chorus of “O Tannenbaum.”

Sybil’s car sits at the corner of the block. She’s given me a spare set of keys in case she’s too compromised to drive, and it’s the closest escape. I dive inside the front passenger side. Frozen and shaking, I start the engine and flick on the seat warmers, hoping it will stop the shudders.

Everything is spinning. I close my eyes and hug myself in this wonderful coat. One mistake in judgment doesn’t mean I have less worth.

A fist pounds on the window so hard it vibrates. “Get out!”

Baz stands on the sidewalk outside, hands clenched, hair sticking straight up.

“Get out of the car, Melody!” He bangs on the door with both palms open. The impact must sting a fuckton. He curses profanities so filthy a woman yanks her son away from the sidewalk.

I lower the window a fraction. “You’re frightening small children. You want to talk, get in.”

He huffs over to the driver’s side, rips open the door, tries to get in, fails because his long legs won’t fit, especially with the brace.

Finally, he swings himself into the car. “What the fuck were you thinking, getting behind the wheel!”

I cross my arms over my cozy armor, and nod to the steering wheel parked before him.

“You know what I mean.”

“Points of order.” I tug my hands out of my gloves and extend a finger in front of him. “First. I’m not going anywhere. I am sitting on the passenger side of a parked car.”

In the close comfort of the car, Baz smells intoxicating. Evergreens, and cinnamon and pent-up frustration. It is a major effort to tamp down my arousal. I desperately want my mouth on his hard jaw.

Before I smash his head on the steering wheel.

“Second.” I concentrate on the two fingers I’m holding up. “I haven’t had a thing to drink.”

His stare follows the path from my fingers to my wrist, then takes a tour of my new coat and flaming cheeks.

“Why are you here?” The question comes out low, careful. “You left.”

Because I wanted something true and real between us. The only reason I’m here at all is that I foolishly hoped we could have that.

And we can’t until he explains himself.

“Who’s Allie?”

Baz flinches.

“I mean, I obviously know who she is.” I gesture to the house. “We’ve met twice.”

He blinks at me like I’m speaking in Pig Latin.

“Who is she to you? You say you were only together once, but that was not a casual hug.”

His mouth gapes, but then his brow relaxes. “I suppose it wasn’t.”