She curled into his arms and he kissed her forehead before passing her to Zach. Without another word, he grabbed my hand and led me out into the frigid night.
27
“Where are we going?” I asked as he tugged me along the sidewalk.
He glanced back at me, a bit of a crazed look in his eye. “To the farm.”
“My place is right here. We can go up upstairs and talk, if you want.”
He glanced up as though considering it before shoving a hand through his hair, the chaos turning to more uncertainty now. “You know what—I, it’s too close. I need to get out of here.”
He was already slipping away, with our last practice done and Jackson going with us to Philly, this tiny fissure of truth Lana broke open had begun working its way between us.
Only when this ended badly, there’d be no new town, no grieving the friends I’d never see again. I’d be here with the pain. I’d see his sister, eventually meet her husband and baby, and I’d wonder.
When is he coming to town?
Would Lilith tell me?
Would I run into him?
Would I break?
Would people in town wonder what happened between us? If I caused it. If I hurt one of their own. Because while memories were long in a small town, they could be incredibly short too.
Tales were embellished, the villain becoming the saint and the saint becoming the villain.
And maybe the transplant becoming the outcast again.
“Okay,” I said, a jagged ball of doubt lodging in my gut.
“Don’t do that,” he snapped.
I tugged at my hand, but he only held on tighter. “What?”
“Say okay like that.” He yanked open the door of his truck and spun on me. “You never just say okay, Mayhem.”
“I’m not going to force you to be with me. You either want to or you don’t.”
Wow, so every niggling doubt I could possibly scrape from my insecurities bank was going to come out tonight apparently.
All of the things we hadn’t been saying up to that point, tired of being kept hidden in the dark.
Lana told a story and left us all spinning. Now Priest and I were tumbling through uncertainty and tiptoeing around each other in spectacular fashion, parading our insecurities like prized pigs in a 4H competition.
“This has nothing to do with wanting to be with you,” he growled, backing me up to the door, pinning me there with his fist curling in my hair and a hard, demanding kiss of his lips. “It’s—I need to get out of town.” He rolled his forehead against mine, his ragged breath fanning my cheek. “Come to the farm with me.”
I need to get out of town.
So did my mother.
It should have made me feel better that he took my hand when the urge to take off struck, but all I could think about was how easy it was for him to walk out of Banked Track and search for safety.
All because one piece of his life slid out of his tight rein of control and the man didn’t know what the hell to do with himself when it did.
What the hell would he do if everything actually went his way?
“Okay,” I said again, my every thought and feeling unpredictable as he spiraled in front of me.
“Mayhem,” he warned.
I huffed out a breath. It was either that or the pressure building from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair were going to launch straight out of the top of my head and singe a hole in my lucky bandana. “What do you expect me to say?”
“Shit,” he bit out. “I don’t know.”
“So, I’m giving you a few minutes to freak out. You’re welcome.”
He scrubbed his hand down his face and sighed. “See, that already sounds more like you. Now get your ass in my truck.”
“And that already sounds more like you. By the way, you’re getting way too comfortable ordering me around,” I said even as I climbed into the cab and gave him one more piece of proof that his authoritarian voice earned compliance.
The cop in him must love that shit.
He didn’t say another word as he fired up the engine, cranked the heat, and pulled out of the parking lot. As the lights from town faded away, darkness concealed him in deep shadows. Under the obscurity, he finally spoke.
“Just say it,” he said, hitting the gas the minute the speed limit sign came into view. His shoulders rigid, he kept flicking glances in the rearview.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“I’m not sure now’s the time to waste my colorful personality. Not when you seem like you’re ready to burst into a million pieces over there, all growly and shit. Kind of takes the fun out of it.”
“I don’t like being under a microscope.”
But he needed to be on trial. And now he wouldn’t be.
At least not from anyone but himself.
That’s what this was. Him poking me until maybe I stumbled upon what he couldn’t bring himself to say. “Apparently, but I don’t think that’s all this is.”
“Okay, so give it to me. What is it?”
“You covered for her for a long time.” A decade giving up everything he loved. How many times had he come back here and run into her parents? Heard the whispers? Pretended he didn’t see the glares?
Because he definitely came back. A man didn’t take care of Lana the way he had without coming back and making sure she was okay.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“All this time, you ate the shit people in this town dished out to keep her secret.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you know what to do with yourself if you’re not protecting somebody—if you’re not protecting her.”
His jaw ticked; tortured sorrow etched in the skin bracketing his mouth because although controversy surrounding Lana and her injury were a huge factor, I’d bet there was something else lurking behind it. The protection that scrutiny gave him
