I don’t want to stop him, but I can’t go much further. I’m trying so hard not to think Adam straddling me and I hate that it invades my mind.
Vincent tugs my bra strap over my shoulder and his lips graze my bare skin. It feels good. My hands run up his back and I hope he can’t tell I’m shaking. I try with everything to push Adam and that night from my mind, but I think of Casper kissing my forehead and how it made me feel.
Oh god what is wrong with me?
Vincent kisses my collarbone and his hand tenderly squeezes above my hip. My breath hitches. He moves his mouth back to mine and I kiss him hard, trying to focus on him. His hand worms its way upward and sneakily finds the back of my bra. I press my hands against his chest.
“Vincent—wait.” I stop his hand.
“What is it?”
“I can’t do this.”
He groans and sits up. “Megan.”
“I want to. Just not yet.”
Vincent smiles and runs his finger down my arm. “It has been four months.”
“I know. I’m just—”
“It’ll happen when you’re ready.” He kisses my forehead and stands from the bed. He checks his phone on his nightstand as I replace my sweater and straighten my hair. He looks angry as he peers at his phone. “You should go. I’ve got things to do. But I’ll call you later, okay?”
I don’t expect that. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Why is he suddenly cold? “Are you kicking me out because I stopped?”
Vincent looks up from his phone and brushes my hair aside. “No. I really have things to do.”
“But obviously those things could have waited if we kept going?”
“Megan, please.”
“I called into work to hang out with you and now you’re blowing me off?”
“Stop overanalyzing this.”
“Well can you imagine how I’m feeling right now? I asked you to stop and suddenly you want me to leave?”
He lets out a sigh. “You’re always like this.”
I don’t think he knows me well enough to know what I’m always like. “Like what?”
He shakes his head and I see in his eyes that he’s holding something back. “Not you. Girls in general. Look, I need to go. I have something to take care of, and then everything will be fine.”
“Are you going to get drugs?” I shouldn’t have asked. Especially when I see his jaw clench and his hands are close to crushing his phone. But he’s acting strange and has been the last couple of weeks.
He takes a breath and calms down. “I told you I’ve been sober since June. Please don’t be so paranoid. I’ll call you later, I promise.” He brushes his lips against mine.
I slide off the bed, grab my coat, and leave the room, feeling completely disoriented and unwanted. Apparently, walking me to the door is out of the question. I can’t figure him out. One night he asks me to never let him go, but tonight he can’t wait to get rid of me. Why is he being so secretive? I should follow him. I open the door, run out into the rain and into my car. I pull out of the drive, drive down the street, and turn out the lights.
This is so unlike me. But the unusual way he went from hot to cold in a matter of seconds concerns me. The logical part of my brain asks if he is going to get drugs, do I really want to be there.
Nevertheless, as he backs out of his driveway and turns at the stop sign, I follow. It’s still pouring but somehow, I’m able to keep up. He isn’t speeding or recklessly driving, not sure why I thought he would. He turns into the hospital and parks. I feel sick. Is his mom in the hospital again? Did something happen? I feel low. Vincent isn’t a bad guy.
It doesn’t make sense though. If something happened to his mom, he would’ve told me. Instead, he said he had something to take care of, then everything would be fine. My curiosity won’t rest until I know the truth. I’m acting crazy and paranoid, but I don’t care. I have to know.
I follow him inside, up to the intensive care unit. From afar, I watch him press his forehead and palm to a window. A doctor comes up and squeezes his shoulder and they exchange a few words. I feel awful witnessing his pain. I feel even worse that I doubted him.
Vincent never goes inside the room, but once the doctor leaves, he turns to walk down the hall toward me. I whip myself out of the way and have to think fast of where to hide. Nothing around me but rooms. My heart assails my ribcage and my palms are sweating. I open the nearest door to me and quietly walk into a dark room, closing the door. The soft beep of monitors is the only sound. I hide behind the door and see his shadow peeking through the window. Crap. He saw me. Any minute I know he’s going to open the door. Instead, he walks away.
I exhale and someone moans. I hope I don’t wake up the patient. I open the door and peek out in the hallway to make sure Vincent and no one else sees me. It’s clear so I swing out and before I close the door, I glance at the patient and freeze. My hand clutches the door handle.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Several pillows prop him up in the bed. Tubes connect him to monitors. I flip a switch and a dim light shines. Bruises and bandages cover his face. He wears a neck brace. His left arm is in a bandage and I fear what the rest of his body looks like. His blonde hair
