Page 30 of Take Me to Church
“Yeah. I kinda did.” I can’t fathom paying two car payments. The one I have is tough enough to make, and it’s small by most people’s standards.
The man driving Christian’s car climbs out and tosses the keys his way. “We took the long way here, just to be safe.”
Christian nods, jaw tense. “Good.” He tips his head at the man who’s almost as covered in tattoos as Rodney. “Lydia, this is Evan. Evan, Lydia.”
Evan gives me a wide smile. “Nice to meet you.”
I’m a little surprised at how happy he seems given the circumstances bringing him here. Actually all the men who’ve shown up have been shockingly laid back about the dead guy in the car. “Nice to meet you too.”
The man behind the wheel of my car is the next one out, and he looks decidedly less friendly than Evan as he frowns at Christian. “You need to take that in and have Tate look it over. It’s listing to the left, there’s a tick in the engine, and I’m pretty sure most of the tires are bald.”
My stomach clenches. It sounds like he’s trying to point out that I’m clearly not keeping up as well on everything as I should be. Like he can’t believe how incompetent I am as a human. It’s something I’m all too used to hearing, and was one of the primary reasons I left Arkansas.
I don’t like being chastised for being human.
“She’s had a lot going on, man.” Christian snatches my keys away from the giant, frowning guy. “Cut her some fucking slack. A tick in the engine is the last thing she’s worried about right now.”
The mountain of a man turns a little sheepish at Christian’s reprimand looking my way as he scrubs the back of his neck with one huge hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant you need to take care of your girl better than you are.”
Oh.
Oh.
The realization he was lecturing Christian, not me, makes me feel a little better, but clearly he’s misreading this whole situation. I shake my head, not wanting Christian to be upset his friends are obviously getting the wrong idea. “We’re not together.” I shift on my feet, suddenly very uncomfortable. “We’re just—”
I pause, struggling to come up with a simple explanation for what we are, but come up empty. So I just stand there, feeling awkward and out of place.
Like usual.
“Lydia and I go way back.” Christian continues to scowl at the huge guy. “And Tate is taking her car with him.” Christian tosses my keys to the base player I remember from The Cellar.
“Umm…” I glance at Tate, struggling to put myself in the middle of the conversation. “...I need my car to get to work.”
Christian turns to me, expression flat. “No, you don’t.”
I bristle, but do my best not to show any outward reaction. “I have to go to work. I have bills to pay. And once my sister gets here, I have to support her until she gets on her feet.” I keep my words calm and soft so hopefully they don’t piss anyone off. I know what happens when a woman tries to stand up for herself to a group of men, and I don’t really feel like hearing how terrible I am for having thoughts, feelings, and opinions.
Christian glances at the men standing around the warehouse, carrying on casual conversations like there isn’t a dead guy bleeding all over the backseat of the car. He comes closer, resting one hand on my back as he moves me away from the group. His voice is low in my ear as we walk. “You’re still going to work, Lydia. I’m not trying to take over your life, I swear.” He stops walking but doesn’t take his hand off my body. “But I know how to keep you safe, so you’ve got to trust me.”
Trust is a tricky thing for me. I’m not sure I’ve ever trusted anyone in my entire life. My mom drank the Kool-Aid and one hundred percent believes my father should make every decision right down to the way she wears her hair. And it was clear from an early age my best interests were the last thing my father ever considered.
I do trust Myra, but also understand the kind of person she is. She’s passive and shy and broken down, and her decisions and actions will always be tainted by that.
Just like mine.
“I know it’s hard.” Christian’s hand falls from my body as he glances toward the car we drove into the warehouse. “Especially considering everything that happened tonight.”
Rationally I know I should be looking at him differently right now. And I am, but not in the way most people would. Because now I have proof Christian will literally do whatever it takes to keep me safe—something I can’t say for anyone else in my life.
“Okay.”
One of Christian’s brows slowly angles up. “Is that bullshit? Are you just pretending to agree with me because you know it’s what I want to hear?” He shakes his head, expression turning dark and a little threatening. “Because you can’t just walk out of places alone anymore. You can’t be sweet to my face knowing you’re going to turn around and do the exact opposite of what you tell me.”
I can, but I’m not going to point that out. Christian might think he wants me to tell him exactly what I think and what I want, but he doesn’t. Not really. Men like sweet, agreeable women. And I don’t think that just because I was raised in a cult, force-fed that belief every waking minute of my life. I think that because I’ve seen it in action, even in the real world.
If I’m having a bad day, and acting a little less friendly, my tips are lower. Every. Single. Time.
When I’m happy and sweet and full of smiles, the money goes up. It’s bullshit, but that’s just the way it is.
