“Trust me, it’s better if I don’t. You’re better off not knowing.”
I’m not, though. That’s the part he doesn’t get. I want to know everything. I want to know what his life was like before we met as kids, I want to know if anyone ever read him fairy tales, or made him pancakes, or cuddled him in a blanket fort. I want to know if he was upset last year because of the band or because of his mom or because of me. I want to know what he did to try to fill the void. And mostly I want to know if there is any chance at all that our one night could be more.
Before I can find my voice, rain begins to pelt the roof and the windshield with a hellacious vengeance.
“Shit, I can’t see a thing.”
I’d make a joke about him peeking but the noise from the downpour would just drown it out. “If you really can’t see, you should pull over.”
I lean over the seat to grab my bag from the front and he hits the brakes suddenly to avoid hitting bright red taillights that have only become visible that instant. My head hits something solid—the window maybe—and the back tires spin angrily in an attempt to find some traction. We skid to a stop and a horn honks loud and long behind us.
“Fuck!” Gavin bites out before pulling over into the emergency lane. “You okay?”
I rub my hand soothingly across the bump on my head and fall back into the backseat, no longer caring about my lack of clothing. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Gavin eases us beneath the safety of an overpass and I can see the car in front of us doing the same while a few brave souls soldier on despite the monsoon.
He shuts the engine off and turns to me with worry deepening each line in his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see them. Christ. That could’ve been so bad.”
I witness the exact moment he starts to lose it. Something terrifying flashing like lightning in his eyes and his gaze goes somewhere far away from me and from this car.
“If anything had happened to you, if you’d been hurt . . . if I’d hit them, you would’ve went through the goddamn windshield.” He’s shaking. “I could’ve killed you,” he whispers and the words wrap my heart and squeeze. He never once says anything about my brother or what my brother would do to him. Because he’s not worried about him. He’s worried about me. Only me.
Before I can think of any other way to comfort him, I’m over the seat and straddling his lap.
“Look at me,” I say, locking my fingers behind his neck and staring down into his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s fine. You stopped in plenty of time. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
So slowly I wonder if I’m imagining the sensation, his warm hands slide up the outside of my bare thighs. As if he can’t believe it himself, he watches his fingers move across my skin.
“You’re okay? You’re sure? What about your head?”
“I’m tougher than I look,” I say quietly. I want him to understand this. Badly. Our one night together is not going to break me.
“You have no idea what it would do to me if something happened to you, if I hurt you.” He squeezes my thighs hard and my body rocks involuntarily against him. “I never want to hurt you. Do you get that? Why I never touch you? I’ll only hurt you.”
I shake my head, because, God, he does not get it. At all.
“Sometimes . . . sometimes pain is a good thing, Gavin.” His eyes widen and I lower myself onto him, relieved that he’s as turned on as I am right now. “Sometimes it’s the only way to make sure that you’re still alive.”
When Gavin lifts his hands to my waist and yanks me against him, I am alive. When he crushes his mouth to mine, I am having an out-of-body near-death experience.