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“Thanks for the ride,” she mutters, and I get the feeling that she’s doing it at Ayla’s insistence, not because she’s actually grateful.
If Ayla told her sister everything, then the woman has every right to hate me.
We both watch as Alani crosses the parking lot, Donavan already out of his truck and standing at the hood. With her nose slightly tilted to the sky, the girl walks right past him, not bothering to acknowledge his existence. Donavan looks livid at being ignored, but he doesn’t reach for her. Hell, the man doesn’t even call after her as she walks away. He simply climbs back into his truck, his eyes locked on the door she disappeared through.
“They slept together, didn’t they?
“Yeah,” I answer.
“She’s always been a little wild,” Ayla mutters. “It scares me now more than ever.”
Ayla turns to face me. I don’t know what the tears balancing on her lower lashes mean, but I sure as fuck know what I want them to.
“Thank you,” she says.
“It was just a ride to the bank.”
My fingers twitch with the need to wipe the tear away as the first one rolls down her cheek.
“It was more than a ride to the bank.”
I nod, understanding what she means.
It would be in both of our best interest to let her go, to keep my fucking mouth shut and let her climb out of this truck. Doing so should be easy. I’ve never had a problem walking away.
The thought of doing it now brings physical pain, an ache in my chest and the twist of my stomach.
“Let me take you to Plano,” I offer, knowing how fucking ridiculous the offer is. Plano is four hours in the opposite direction of where I should be heading, which is home, so I can fully recover from the fucking torture Pirro was so happy to dish out.
She watches my face, her eyes traveling a slow trail over every feature. It feels like a caress, like she’s going to say no, and she’s trying to commit everything about me to memory.
“I have to go to Plano, but then I have to come back here to get my birth certificate. I’ll have to use Alani’s address because I don’t have one.”
“I can bring you back.”
She takes a deep breath. I know she’s gearing up to tell me to fuck off, so I have no idea why I say what I do next.
“Use my address. I can take you to Plano, and then you can come back to my place. I can even set you up in Plano if that’s what you want.”
“A ride would be great,” she says, and I don’t miss the fact that she doesn’t agree to anything else.
She knows she needs a ride. She knows it would be dangerous for her on a bus. She’s not foolish enough to turn it down, but having anything to do with me after? Not going to happen.
“Do you want me to come back? Like tomorrow or—”
“I want to go today,” she interrupts, her cheeks pinking. “I mean, if that’s okay? I just want to start getting my life back together. I feel like I’m having to start from scratch.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I feel like she’s cutting me off at the knees.
I made my offer, and she wasn’t interested. I’m not like Donavan. I’m not going to take her prisoner because it would be easier than letting her make her own decisions.
“I won’t be long,” she says as she climbs out of the truck.
Donavan doesn’t speak to her through his open truck window when she walks past, and I think back to how he’s handled this situation. Maybe telling her what she’s going to do rather than allowing her to choose is the best way to go.
But she spent months being told what to do. She might listen if I attempted it because she once again feels like she has limited options, but she’d hate me more than she probably does right now.
The best thing for both of us would be for me to drive away and leave her to make her own choices, ones that don’t include me, but I just can’t manage it.
I know where this will leave me, but I’d rather have just a little more time with her before she discards me. I’ll take what I can get from her even though I know I don’t deserve it.
Chapter 37
Ayla
“I love you, Alani, but—”
“Everything before the word but is bullshit,” she says, her eyes locked on me, filled with judgment.
“I need a ride home.”
“And I told you I could find you a ride with someone else. That man hurt you. I don’t understand why—”
“We hurt each other,” I remind her. “And I trust him.”
“How?” she asks, genuinely confused.
“He protected me. Everything he did was to protect me.” I clear my throat, refusing to dive back into the conversations we had last night.
