Page 2 of A Captive Situation

The same guy that I gave almost two decades of my life. We’d been engaged for the last two years, but then he decided to fill me in on a simple thing where he’d been cheating on me for the last three years. And that they were having a child.

He and Manda.

And that person he was cheating on me with—Manda—was my best friend from college.

I was about to lose it. This was what happened when I let myself ruminate.

There were thoughts.

And feelings.

And anger. Lots and lots of anger.

I couldn’t let myself think about it, because if I did, then I was going tolose my mind.

If that happened, there was a chance I’d start hyperventilating. That could lead to other unhinged hysteria, and then who knew what kind of handcuffs I’d end up in at the end of that adventure?

There was also the possibility that I was having a slight midlife crisis.

I was four years away from turning forty, and yep ... I could feel the hysteria coming on. Though, the hysteria wasn’t about my age, it was about the reason I wasnotin Montana this week.

Which I couldn’t focus on at the moment.

The scowly guy, who still hadn’t broken into anyBeauty and the BeastBroadway songs, glanced my way. His mouth was pressed in a tight line as he was eyeing me.

Right. I was breathing pretty loudly and thinking about the ex.

“Woman.” It was the scowling guy. He leaned forward. His jacket fell open, showing a gun holstered on his hip. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? You need an ambulance or something?”

An ambulance?

I hadn’t heard him right. I couldn’t have. Leaning toward him, I hissed, “Excuse me?”

His eyelid twitched as he ran his gaze over me, lingering on my legs before dipping back up to my mouth. It jerked up to my gaze, and his scowl just doubled. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you? If so, I gotta call for an ambo.”

I didn’t know if I should be flattered at the concern, though he was not coming off like he was in the least bit concerned about me. He seemed irritated, like I was the last thing he wanted to deal with, and at that thought, I straightened in my seat, deciding to be insulted. “You think I’m going to pass out because of why? I’m breathing harshly? I’m so sorry. Did I interrupt your phone call because I was just sitting here,minding my own business? Was I not quiet enough as I was thinking about my—well, it’s none of your business what I was thinking about, but was I not quiet enough? You want me to be more silently angry? Sure. Totally. I’ll be like a statue as I’m processing my own shit here, or can I not have feelings either? Is there a certain way I’m supposed to breathe while Ifeelthings,sir?”

A part of me was wincing at my snark, but there was a whole side of me thatdid not care.

I stared at him, hotly.

He glared back, but his dark eyes cooled dramatically. He’d been pissed off before, but now he was downright like ice. “If you need medical assistance, I’m obliged to provide it for you.”

Obliged?

I skewered him with a look. I had no idea how to respond to that.

“Ma’am.” The train was coming to a stop, and he stood once it did. He clipped out, “Do you need medical help?”

He took one step toward me, looming over me. That scowl hadn’t lessened or deepened. I was thinking it was permanently fixed on his face. He had resting scowling face. RSF.

“Why are you so fixated on me? Go away. Focus on someone else.” I gestured to a guy who was stretched out and sleeping on the other side of us. “He’s passed out. Why aren’t you asking him if he needs EMTs or not?”

The sleeping guy opened his eyes and lifted his gaze. His legs had been stretched out, his ankles crossed over one another, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. He looked relaxed. “Huh?” he asked now, frowning.

“Go back to sleep, Miguel.” The scowling guy jerked in his direction.

“Oh. Okay.” He closed his eyes and laid his head back down.

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