“Buckle?”
Not wanting to pull the blanket from my face, I sit back and allow the blanket to fall to my lap as I reach over and pull the belt.
Our hands hit as he grabs the blanket.
“Shit, sorry, ba—” He pauses. “Savvy.” Then he shakes the blanket out, allowing it to open to its full size.
After I’ve buckled, he drapes the blanket over me, and I immediately bend down and snuggle my face into it.
A second later, he cranks the heat and pulls out onto the road. “Breathe, Savvy.”
I have no idea how he can tell I’m holding my breath in the dark while driving, but he does. I have no idea how he of all people found me walking down the road in the pouring rain, but he did. And I have no idea why, when he does a U-turn, when I know we were heading toward the dorms, I don’t care.
When he turns on the radio, a song I don’t recognize starts, but I sense he plays it for a purpose, and again … I don’t care.
“When you're high on emotion, and you're losing your focus, and you feel too exhausted to pray, don't get lost in the moment or give up when you're closest, all you need is somebody to say. It's okay not to be okay. It's okay not to be okay. When you're down and you feel ashamed. It's okay not to be okay.”
When he slows down and puts his turn signal on, I raise my head. “Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“What? No … I can’t … Parents … I—”
“Just getting back from dropping them off at the airstrip. They won’t be back until Christmas Eve morning.”
“I can’t be with you there. We—”
“It’s me or Heather. You’re in a bad place, a bit too fucked-up to make that decision, so I’m making it for you. It’s me.”
Staring out the window, passing massive oceanfront homes, I feel bitter that they’re hiding the beauty of nature. Normally, I’d say something, wouldn’t hold back, but what good would it do? Does it really matter, anyway?
Who am I but a fallen leaf …
When he pulls into the driveway of the biggest house I’ve seen thus far, and I see the parking sign with his name on it, I look over at him.
As he comes to a stop, he says, “They tend to be over the top at times.” He puts his Jeep in park. “Might be a bit much, but they’ve busted their asses to have what they do, so I won’t apologize for them.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” I whisper.
He turns off his Jeep then turns fully in his seat and looks at me. “You look like shit, Savvy.” He reaches over and touches my forehead, something no one has done in years.
“Yeah, well, you look like … you.”
His perfect lips curve up a bit, and then he frowns as he presses his hand firmer on my forehead. “I think you have a fever.”
I look up at his hand, still splayed across my forehead, and he pulls it back.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, enough time to make it awkward. He’s the first one to look away, and then he opens his door. “Let’s get you inside and dried off.”
The door shuts before I have a chance to object, but seriously, what other choice do I have?
My door opens while I’m unbuckling, and then he pulls the blanket off me. I’m soaked, and the cold air blowing against me nearly takes my breath away.
“Come on, Savvy.” He holds the blanket up and spreads it wide. “One step from warmth, you can do it.”
As I’m sliding out, he tells me to, “Turn around.”
As soon as I do, he wraps the thick, soft, and slightly damp blanket around me.
When I reach to shut the door, I see the rainwater covering his seat. “The seat,” I say.
I feel him step closer to me and lean over my shoulder. “It’s leather; it’ll be fine.” He reaches over me and shuts the door. “Come on.”
After he punches in the security code and pushes open the door, he steps aside. “After you.”
I don’t even want to look at the place. It’s everything I’ve been taught was wrong with the world.
“Savvy”—he steps around me—“let’s get you some dry clothes.”
When I don’t follow him, he stops.
“I swear to you, you’re safe with me.”
“It’s not you; it’s this … house.”
“House is safe, too. There’s a security system and no sign of spirits, angry or otherwise.”
“My shoes are wet.”
“Shit.” He chuckles. “Good call.”
He toes off his sneakers, revealing glistening white socks, and I look down at my own shoes, one of my thrift store finds. Canvas sneakers that I hand-painted. At the time, I was so damn proud of them. Mud-stained and soaked against the sleek gray wood flooring, they look like they should be left outside.
Patrick kneels down in front of me and starts to untie one. I start to step back, but he grabs my foot and finishes the job. He pulls it off my foot, and I stare down at my socks. They look as bad as the shoes. Then he unties the other shoe, grabs them both, and sets them upside down beside the door. His are placed on either side of mine.
Standing, he nods his head toward the open space beyond the entry. “No one’s here, and I don’t bite … unless asked. Now, let’s go before I throw your ass over my shoulder and—”
“Fine.”
I follow him from a distance, now looking around and realizing how paled the memory of being overwhelmed when walking into Seashore and the dorms at MacArthur Hall have become in an instant.
The open space that is the kitchen, dining room, and living room is bigger than the common room in the dorms.
I watch as he stops in front of a huge fireplace, takes a remote off the stone mantel, and hits a couple buttons, bringing it to a roaring life.
I hurry toward it, not caring at
