Page 7 of Into the Dawn

This is positive. Progress, even. If I help Ben get John back, maybe he’ll forgive me. Or just not hate me so much. Even that would be a win.

“Yeah alright, but if you fuck me over this time, Vanessa, I swear to god, I'll kill you.” Ben warns, his tone laced with an icy coldness I’ve never heard from him before. “Mate or not, I'm not the same guy you ditched. You changed me, little mate, and now, my family is all I care about. I will find a way to fucking end you if you hurt John and prevent our escape.”

He takes my silence as my agreement but I’m still hung up on the fact that I’m not part of this family that he’ll go to the ends of the earth to protect. And how that’s my own damn fault.

Outside, I hear a door creak, and then heavy boots hitting the dirt.

When he lifts the lid, I squint up at him, the fading sunlight hurting my eyes after so long in the dark.

Ben is silhouetted by the sunset, his brown wavy hair highlighted with hints of amber light. He’s looking as handsomeas ever. I raise my bound hands, shielding my face, allowing me to see him better and relish the joy I feel just being near him again, even if the situation is slightly less than ideal.

Just like when we were teenagers, the butterflies start in my belly at the mere sight of him. When he reaches down and grabs me by the knot binding my wrists, keeping them tightly together, I gasp. The tiniest brush of our skin sends tingles dancing across my palms and it feels so good.

Ben’s eyes lock onto mine, his jaw tense, and it feels like it was only yesterday that we were sitting on that porch, giddy as hell about starting a new life away from all the drama of our family’s hatred of one another.

“This isn’t how I thought we'd end up,” I say, breaking the trance we’re both in, regret clogging my throat and making it hard to speak.

Ben clears his throat, blinking hard, before he yanks me out of the truck with one pull, roughly shoving me toward the soft grass nearby. “You're fucking telling me.”

4

VANESSA

Ben reluctantly climbs into the passenger seat, and I take the keys, starting the truck and getting back on the road. I’m afraid to say much in case I end up in the back again.

We drive along in blessed silence, the truck’s steady hum punctuated by every jolt that makes Ben flinch and twitch. Each time his beloved truck is jostled, too near a branch or the edge of the road, I catch the tension in his body and the way his eyes narrow as he braces himself.

Ben never was a good passenger. He taught me how to drive, a lesson that nearly tore us apart, and ever since. To get under his skin, I deliberately look out the side window and take in the scenery, keeping my eyes off the road for a second longer than he likes. I chuckle to myself, watching as his big hand reaches out for the steering wheel.

His forearm flexes, muscles rippling under his tanned skin, as if he’s ready to wrest control back from me at the slightest provocation. Those arms, veiny and corded to perfection, adorned with dark tattoos and a faint scar, have always had a hold on me.

“Do you really think I’m that bad a driver, Ben?” I tease, partly to distract myself from his raw magnetism. “I travel this road every single day. I know it like the back of my hand.”

Grumbling, he releases his death grip on the black leather and forces himself to slide back over onto the passenger side. He sits as stiff as possible, pressing himself against the door, keeping as far away from me as he can manage. I can tell he’s mouth breathing to avoid my scent. I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult.

“I don’t let anybody drive her,” he mutters. Then, almost as a reflex when I raise an eyebrow, he adds, “And it’s not a control thing.” I know this isn’t the first time someone’s prodded that nerve. “It’s just that this truck is the only thing I have that’s really mine.” His confession holds a note of possessiveness before softening his tone.

A pang of hurt stings me. I remember when he used to call me his, proudly and completely. Now, I can’t help but feel I’ve been replaced by a machine.

“I bought it just before I came back to Sutton,” he continues. “With the money I’d saved working in Whisper Cove.”

A quiet “Oh” escapes me, and he trails off. His eyes dart furtively to check if I’m still watching, then quickly return to the fading beauty outside as the sky deepens into night.

Shifting the topic delicately, I say, “I heard that you’d stayed away.”

His shoulders tense, and his arms fold tightly across his chest, a silent rebuff of the subject.

“So you stayed there then?” I press softly, my gaze fixed on the inky darkness outside. I knew he hadn’t come home immediately, but I never understood where he’d gone all those years that he wasn’t in Sutton.

Ben hesitates, swallowing hard. For a moment, it seems he might ignore my question, but finally, he admits, “I did, yeah. Istayed there for three years. Nice place, nice people. So why not? I needed a break from Sutton, and I couldn’t go home and deal with explaining…” His voice falters, and I can tell there’s more he’s holding back.

“So it was as good as we thought it would be?” I ask wistfully, remembering all those nights we agonized over where to run away together. We had it all planned out, a faraway haven in Whisper Cove with affordable housing, endless forests to roam, good schools for the future kids we talked about having, and a life we thought was our own.

Ben swivels his gaze to the side of my face, eyes narrowing as his dark, wavy hair falls across them. “What?” he snaps. “Are you serious?”

I cringe inwardly, wondering if I’d baited him intentionally, desperate for some burst of emotion.

“Of course, it wasn’t as good as we thought it would be,” he continues, incredulous. “It was very different to how I’d imagined it… because I was on my fucking own, Vanessa.”

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