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I stay as far away as I can in my head.
Is that what’s happening now? His body is on autopilot, driving me to rescue my sister, while his mind is somewhere else entirely.
“What are you thinking about?”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Driving to Brentwood.”
“You broke up with me. That means you don’t have to lie.”
It’s probably the adrenaline making me bold. Or the fact that Lydia’s in danger. Or maybe it’s that this could be the last night we spend time together. When I’m sure Lydia’s safe, I need to make plans. I can’t be left at the mercy of my parents or even Gabriel.
I can’t be at the mercy of anyone ever again.
Except you still owe him. You owe all of them. You killed their parents.
No such thing as running away from guilt. No such thing as making up for one sin by saving your sister from a house party. I know I can’t actually repay Gabriel and his siblings for what my father did. After what he said, I shouldn’t care.
I still do.
His hands flex on the wheel. “I wasn’t lying. I was thinking about driving to Brentwood.” Gabriel’s jaw works. “And I was thinking about how brutally unfair it is that you smell like sugar cookies.”
“Brutally unfair?” A not-cute snort escapes me. “I think it’s perfectly fair, actually. You hate sweets.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, that’s right. You liked eating my buttercream roses, didn’t you? But no, that was about revenge. How’s that going, by the way?”
“Absolutely fucking great.” Gabriel’s using his party voice. Flirty. Musical. Fake. Other people might believe it’s real, but it’s not. “Sitting this close to you and breathing in howsweetyou are and not being able to touch you because I’m an egregious bastard is exactly what I’ve always wanted. Jesus, did youbathein buttercream frosting?”
He sounds so hurt underneath his beautiful, charming, asshole-ish sarcasm that my throat goes tight again. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Pull over and I’ll call an Uber.”
“No fucking Uber is going to drive this far out and take you to Brentwood.”
“They will if I hire one. Let me out.”
“No.” No charm now. Nothing but flat rejection of the idea. He’s not letting me out. I get a flash of his eyes, dark and frustrated. Gabriel takes a long, slow breath. Lets it out. Loosens his grip on the wheel. “It’s past one in the morning. Your sister needs help. I’m an asshole, Elise. I’m not completely devoid of a moral compass.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
The highway rushes through the wide beams of his headlights. Heat whispers through the car, dispensed evenly by the top-of-the-line system. Gabriel drives.
Miles go by. Minutes. We’re getting close to Brentwood.
I was right. He didn’t have to do this. Least of all for a member of my family.
“I’m sorry.” Sorry for the way I snapped at him. Sorry that my father hired a man to murder his parents. Sorry that Gabriel Hilldoesn’t hate sweetsbut talked about sugar cookies with abject longing in his voice and wouldn’t taste his birthday cake. “You’re doing me a huge favor. I shouldn’t have said those things.”
Gabriel takes the Brentwood exit.
“Continue driving straight ahead for two point seven miles, then turn left,” suggests the GPS.
“I deserved it.”
