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“Hey, asshole!” he yelled out his window. “I don’t have all goddamned day. Move your fucking truck, moron.”
“I’ll be right back.” My fingers grazed over Birdie’s jaw before I tucked her hair back away from her face. “Hold tight.”
I shut the door and walked around the truck in the direction of the blaring horn. As soon as the Porsche fucker saw me, his hand froze mid honk. But it was far too late for this pissant. He frantically scurried to roll up his window as I approached, but I jammed my hand through the gap and pushed it back down with force, relishing the sound of the motor as it sputtered and gave out. Then I lodged a palm around the scrawny fucker’s throat and met his eyes.
“You got anything else you want to get off your chest?” I asked.
He shook his head, slobbering all over himself as he tried to speak. “No, man. I’m sorry. It’s just… your truck is parked in the middle of the road—”
His half-assed apology died in his throat when my fist connected with his face. There was a satisfactory crack before blood began to pour from his nose, and he screamed like a baby. It was the release I needed at that moment, and I didn’t think twice about leaving him there, sobbing in his hundred-thousand-dollar car.
Birdie glanced at me in question as I climbed back into the driver’s seat and flipped on my blinker, pulling back into traffic. But I didn’t think anything needed to be said about it. She leaned her head back against the seat, her eyes drifting shut, and I reached over and stroked her arm.
“No sleep.” I couldn’t hide the concern in my voice. “Just stay awake with me, angel.”
“I’m fine,” she murmured, but it was obvious she wasn’t. “Just take me home.”
I tried to keep her awake and distracted by stroking her arm, but that only seemed to lull her deeper into delirium. I was so worried about getting her to the hospital that I almost lost sight of the road in front of us several times. It wasn’t like me to be so reckless, and I didn’t know how to fix this. I only knew that I had to get her to a doctor, and I had to do it now.
“Birdie, stay with me.” I squeezed her hand in mine. “Tell me about your favorite dessert.”
Her head swiveled in my direction, and when she smiled, it was bloody. “Shouldn’t you know that already, stalker?”
In spite of the gravity of the situation, her smartass remark relieved me. She was still Birdie. She was still my girl.
Her gaze drifted up to the roof of the truck as she seemed to consider it. “Cotton candy ice cream.”
The answer didn’t surprise me. I imagined her on a hot summer day, legs stretched out in the grass as she tasted the airy sugar melting across her tongue. I wanted to taste it on her lips, and I resolved then and there, I would always have ice cream for her in the freezer.
“As soon as you feel up for it, I’ll buy you some,” I told her.
She nodded, her eyes drifting shut again. I was about to shake her out of it when she spoke. “What about yours?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
I felt her eyes move to my face as tension crept over my features. It was a loaded question. One I hadn’t planned on reciprocating.
“How can you not know?” she asked.
I considered my answer. My default setting was to shut down. To protect me and my past. But I already knew Birdie had seen the obituary in my personal files. I’d found it in the stack, along with her internet searches on my work computer. She had learned something about me, and it ate at me the entire time she was gone.
I’d resolved a long time ago not to give a fuck what anyone thought about me, but this was different. I needed her to know the truth. I needed her to know that despite what my actions may have led her to believe, she was safe with me. So even though it went against every instinct I’d ever had, I answered her question honestly.
“My father didn’t allow sweets. And when I went to prison, I never had any money in my commissary to buy them. When I got out, there were so many choices I didn’t really know where to begin. So I just didn’t.”
Birdie’s hand drifted across the seat, and her head rolled to the side while she studied me. “Then I guess we’ll have to figure that out, won’t we?”
The levity of her tone didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t know if it was the trauma she’d sustained or something else, but it wasn’t a normal reaction for someone who’d recently read that I’d been convicted of murder. It especially wasn’t a normal reaction for Birdie. I expected her to have questions, but if she did, she wasn’t voicing them.
