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Okay. Yikes.
Deliberately ignoring that, ignoring the way it coiled deep in my stomach, I started moving again.
Only, he caught my arm, threatening to dislodge the packs of socks, sending the rolls of toilet paper teetering. Considering the package was open, I had to perform acrobatic maneuvers in order to keep the rolls from toppling to the ground. “What are you—?”
He tried to snatch the packages from me then, but I stepped back, gripped the bags and bundles tighter, stepped away from him. “I’m a perfectly capable adult, Joel,” I snapped. “Which means I can carry my own shit and I can drive with a full carload.”
“Without mirrors?” he asked, his voice pure ice.
I’d been moving away from him again, but his cold question almost had me missing a step. I recovered, though.
Mostly because he added, “No denial forthcoming, harpy?”
Ugh.
I fuckinghatedhockey players.
And I fucking hated Joel Marshall in particular.
“Forthcoming is an awfully big word for a hockey player,” I muttered.
A growl. “Hilarious.”
“I know I am,” I told him, straightening my shoulders, hating this interaction with every fiber of my being.
“Could you even see out of the rearview?” he asked, quietly this time, albeit just as frostily.
Okay, so truth?
I hadn’t been able to see out of the rearview.
But I’d had my side mirrors, and I’d driven these roads a million times in my life. Hyperbole? Yes. But only slightly. Because I’d made my way to and from San Francisco from the moment I could drive. To see Bailey. To get into trouble in the city. To run from the disappointment of my parents and avoid the specter of my older brother who’d done everything possible to infuriate my mom and dad.
So, not a million times.
But close.
I didn’t need my rearview, even with the closed roads and equipment blocking the highway and the smoke and the burned cars on the shoulder.
I hardly even needed my side mirrors.
There weren’t many people heading up into the mountains.
Away.
Everyone wanted to get away.
But there was no escape for me, not here, not now.
Not ever.
Fingers on my arm again. A big body close. “Harpy—”
I flinched.
Goddamn, I knew I flinched.
And I knew he’d seen it because he inhaled sharply, because his fingers convulsed on my biceps, because he…gentled.
