God, give me patience with this man.
I wanted to scream at him but we were both too tender and sore for another battle. Instead, I took the calm road and kept my voice even and soothing. “You didn’t kill them.”
“I pulled the trigger.”
“You weren’t yourself.”
Leaning forward so his nose almost touched mine, he seethed, “They’re dead because of me.”
I balled my hands. “They’re dead because of Rubix!”
My outburst stopped him long enough for me to spill the horrific memories of that night. Screw waiting. Screw his ideals. “Yes, you pulled the trigger. Yes, you were the one my parents saw the moment they died, but they knew as well as I did that it wasn’t you!”
“What do you mean it wasn’t me?” Arthur roared. His temper blazed as vibrant as the fire behind us. His features were harsh and brutal from his awful concussion.
My mouth parted. “You honestly don’t know, do you?”
He snorted. “I know just fine. I remember the weight of the gun in my hand. I remember the stink of gasoline. I remember the soundless bullet as it tore through your parents’ hearts. Don’t tell me I don’t know, Cleo, because I know too fucking well!”
His chest pumped, sweat shone on his upper lip and brow, and the sounds of sirens were no longer on the horizon but just around the corner.
“We need to leave,” I said softly. “There are two sides to every tale and you’re remembering the wrong one.”
For the longest moment, I worried he would ignore me and continue fighting. I doubted he had the strength to argue much longer or wish to be here when the fire brigade came screeching around the corner. But at the last second, he clenched his jaw and turned away from me.
Throwing the car into gear, he stomped on the accelerator; we tore away in a spray of gravel and soot.
I pursed my lips as I slid recklessly on the slippery leather, knocking already bruised elbows against the door. I didn’t protest. In a way, we weren’t just escaping the scene of an arson, but also running from a past that’d scarred both of us.
The sooner we were on neutral ground the better.
Keeping my eyes trained on the road, the only scenery illuminated was the golden strip from the headlights. The rest of the night was a blur of blackness.
Arthur didn’t speak as he took a left at the bottom of the gravel road and sped away just as the red and blue lights of help appeared from the right.
The car purred, chewing up ground faster and faster until my heart wedged itself in my throat. A few minutes passed before I squeaked, “Arthur, they’re far behind us. We’re safe. Can you … eh … can you slow down, please?”
He kept his eyes locked in front, but obeyed. The speed went from bullet to racecar, still too fast for my liking but an improvement nevertheless.
“You okay?” I asked. For some reason, I couldn’t shake the fear that no matter his assurances, he wasn’t okay. Something was wrong. Yet again, he was hiding. And yet again, I was lost.
“I’m fine. Stop asking that.”
I stiffened. Just because I couldn’t voice them didn’t mean my questions stopped. They kept me company as we drove in silence for a while. Finally, after miles were between us and the remains of Dagger Rose, I couldn’t stand the noiselessness any longer.
I carefully chose a topic that wouldn’t lead to an argument. “What exactly are you wearing by the way?”
The random question of his awful sweatpants and shirt made him laugh, cracking the tension. “It was this or a hospital gown with my ass hanging out. Be grateful it’s this.” He cast me a look in the mirror. He looked terrible. Feverish and white.
My heart tripped. “I want to know the full story of why you were in the hospital, but I’ll wait. However, I do need to know if you should be driving with a concussion.”
He looked away. “Probably not.”
I shuffled forward, reaching for him again, but he twisted in his seat and slammed his palm against my thigh. “Stay there. If I’m concussed, so are you. We both have pretty lumps and until you’ve been checked out, I don’t want you moving.” His voice turned bossy. “In fact, lie down. I don’t want you sitting up, especially without a seat belt.” He added deathly quiet, “Especially as I can barely see the road.”
“What was that?”
His skin stretched over his aristocratic cheekbones. “Nothing. Buckle up.”
Ideally what I wanted to do was crawl into the front seat so I could watch him closely, but Arthur’s fingers tightened around my leg. “Buttercup … do it.”
Huffing, I slid sideways. Once I was settled, he took his hand off my leg and placed it back on the wheel.
“Happy?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I won’t be happy until the shit inside my skull is sorted and I know you’re okay. Seeing you covered in blood is driving me insane.” His eyes flickered to mine, then back to the road. “You sure they didn’t cut you. You’re not bleeding anywhere?”
I smiled softly, loving his concern for me. His protectiveness. “Yes, I’m fine. Just the head bump.” He didn’t need to know what else his father did. I wasn’t raped—thank God—but the violation of his touch between my legs was a distant echo that I doubted a shower could wash away.
I didn’t know if it was shock keeping the past events from consuming me or the knowledge that Rubix would never have another chance to lay a hand on me—either way, Rubix had screwed up and it would cost him his life. There was no other path for him and I meant to be there when it ended.