AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We still haven’t pierced the silence since his sister left.
I won’t be the first to do it.
Trent’s profile is the only thing visible to me as he stares out of the window, watching the scenery change from rural to concrete.
I wonder if he regrets his decision to bring me back with him.
Yeah, he feels guilty for what happened to me, but he could have pawned me off on my sister. Despite our differences, I’m thankful he asked me to stay with him.
Since all my stuff is already in Trent’s loft and his is the most secure place I’ve been to, this plan makes the most sense.
However, the closer we get, the more I’m not sure.
The drive is eerily quiet.
No music plays. Neither of us speaks.
I just want to get home already.
Home.
What a strange word.
Is his place my home?
No. Not really.
But I have lived there for over a month and feel safer in the loft, under Trent’s wings, than I ever felt in any house or apartment with Erin.
Maybe it’s not my home, but it sure does feel good to be going back.
After the accident, I just want normalcy.
That would never have happened with Erin and Brad. The man gives me major creep vibes.
Something’s off about him. Beyond the drugs, the booze, and the penchant for dealing.
At first, it was the way he looked at me.
It wasn’t sexual necessarily.
Just off.
I shake my head and pull my focus back to the outside landscape. We approach the bridge and cross over it.
It won’t be long now.
My bed beckons me, and I stifle a yawn at the thought.
That makes Trent shuffle in his seat.
I turn to see what he’s doing.
He is staring at me.
Blue eyes that have no bottom.
“Tired?” His voice is low as if to keep the conversation strictly between the two of us.
“Yeah. It feels like I got run over by a car,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
It has the opposite effect, though, and instead, little lines form between Trent’s brows.
“I’m so sorry about that.”
It’s not the first time he’s apologized, and it probably won’t be the last. I thought I’d enjoy the moment, but I don’t. It lost its novelty after the first time, and now, I just want things back to how they were, minus the animosity.
“It’s really not your fault,” I point out.
“But it could be,” he admits on a sigh.
This is the second time he’s made a cryptic comment like that.
“What does that mean?”
His eyes dart to the front of the car. “Not now. But I’ll explain back at the loft.”
I give him a little nod to show him I understand. Whatever he has to say or confess shouldn’t be done in front of his driver.
Makes sense.
I know that Trent rubs elbows with some powerful men.
This could be about that.
Maybe he pissed someone off.
I shiver at the thought.
“Cold?”
“No.”
He moves in his seat, and his body slides closer. Our legs touch. His hand grazes mine.
The shifting makes it more pronounced, and I wonder what he is doing, but then he pulls his coat off. He’s making sure I’m warm.
And at that gesture, I thaw.
Soon, the car slows down. I peek out the window and notice we’re pulling up to the loft building. When the driver throws the car in park, Trent turns to me and signals with his hand for me to stay. Then he is up and out of the car, walking around to my side.
He opens the door and reaches his hand in to grab me. I shake my head, but he just frowns.
“No way am I letting you try to walk.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Carry you, of course.”
“You are not carrying me.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Petulant child in aisle one.
He leans into the car doorway and almost whispers, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
My face starts to warm at the implication. The last time I got hurt, he carried me. I remember his arms, the way he held me tight, and the smell of his cologne. It feels like it was just yesterday.
Yeah, no, I can’t let him carry me.
It’s hard enough being attracted to a man you hate.
Oh, shut up, Payton. You don’t hate him.
Tolerate. You tolerate him.
Even I am getting annoyed with my lies.
It’s more that he makes you feel things you don’t want to think about. Which means you can’t be held in his arms.
Because that will confuse me even more.
However, his narrow eyes tell me there is no getting out of this, so I pivot my body to the right, extend my leg out, and move to stand. Before I can, he’s reaching in and pulling me carefully into his arms.
“Can’t you just get me crutches or a wheelchair?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
This is unbelievable.
“Yes.”
“Why do you have to be so difficult? I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”
“Yet you’re not. You said you would stay with me. You said you would heal in my place. You sprained a rib, sprained your foot, and don’t get me started with your concussion. Can you just not argue with me?”
