Page 89 of Say You Will

“Oh.” I try to nod, but he’s holding me too tightly.

“I want to kiss you now,” he mutters.

“Yes.”

His eyes flare with heat, then he shakes his head, glancing out the back window. “I can’t do that here. Pulling over was already stupid and dangerous.”

He kisses me, anyway. Hard and fast. When he draws away, he swipes his thumb over my lip. “Worth it.”

Henry settles back in his seat, checks his mirrors, and pulls out onto the road.

My phone rests in my hand. So innocuous looking. Nothing more than a shiny piece of technology.

I should cut her out of my life for good right now, then block her, and be done with it. I try to think through the words I’ll say and hype myself up to press her contact.Get it over with, then it’ll be over.

I can’t make myself do it. I’m not ready for that final confrontation. Instead, I power the phone off. It’s a cop-out, but I’m giving myself a deadline. When I turn it back on, my relationship with my mother will be over.

In the meantime, I don’t have to look at the thing like it’s a snake waiting to bite me. I’m tired of tensing up every time my phone vibrates with an incoming call or text.

twenty-seven

Franki

Eyes Don’t Lie | Isabel La Rosa

Henry gets on theinterstate, and, as the minutes pass, I absorb the worst of my inner turmoil. It settles into my brain and lungs and gut and bones. Diffused, nearly unnoticed. Simply part of me.

I’ve been primed from early childhood to exist in a state of heightened anxiety, so this stress, in many ways, feels familiar. Zoning out is my favorite coping mechanism when it comes to my mother. One I employ way too often, if I’m honest with myself.

So I push her out of my mind and focus instead on the spectacular view. Tree-covered rolling hills dressed in their fall finery hulk in the distance. We cross a bridge high above a sparkling river.

Henry rubs his thumb over my knuckles, and, with a sigh, I turn my hand over and squeeze. We haven’t resolved all of our issues yet, but while we drive, I allow myself to enjoy the moment.

Three minutes later, I’m watching Henry, not the road, when his expression grows intent as he checks his rearview mirror. I’m about to ask if there’s a problem when Henry’s arm shoots out to hold me against the seat as he veers sharply left, then right.

I startle, gasping, and turn in my seat to see what’s happening. Henry’s palm lands on the back of my head and he pushes me over. “Get down. Under the windows. Now, Franki.”

I shift lower, sliding out of the chest strap of my seat belt, and cover my head with my arms two seconds before I hear the crack of gunfire. “Is someoneshootingat us?!”

“We have bullet-resistant glass. They’d need armor-piercing rounds or to hit the exact same spot over and over to get through. We’re fine,” he says calmly.

Two more shots. “This doesn’t feel fine, Henry!”

“Can we discuss this later, darling?” Henry slams on the brakes, our tires screaming in protest, as he spins the SUV in a tight circle and fires his own weapon at the person who shot at us. “I’m a little busy.”

Head below the window height, I see nothing except the flash of blue sky and fluffy clouds overhead. Then Henry straightens out the vehicle and we careen in the wrong direction. Horns blare at us as Henry swerves in and out of the oncoming traffic.

The heavy SUV isn’t built for rapid acceleration, but from my vantage point nearly on the floor, I can see Henry’s foot pressing the gas pedal down as far as it will go.

“I need you to take the wheel for a minute.”

It takes too long for his words to make sense, then I creep up enough to see the road. We are absolutely driving the wrong direction on the highway. I wrap my fingers around the wheel.

“That’s it. Keep your head down as low as you can and still see. Use my body as a shield. Breathe, darling.”

I suck in a deep breath.

Henry slides his window down about halfway, turns around, and sticks his arm out the window.

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