Page 82 of Dove
“Why’s your duffle bag down here?” The sleep had left her voice entirely.
Her head pinged back and forth from the luggage to me, as if trying to connect the dots. When I stayed silent, she took a few tentative steps back into the kitchen, worry written all over her face.
I wiped the crumbs from my hand and threw away the paper plate I’d been using. I grabbed myself a water from the fridge and took a long swig.
“Go back to bed,” I ordered once I was done. The dryness in my mouth persisted.
“Josh,” she pleaded. “What’s going on?”
I flipped off the kitchen light as I left, ignoring her questions as I passed her.
My heart broke with each word out of her mouth.
“Wait,” she begged. I grabbed for my bag at the same time she grabbed for me.
“Josh,” her voice held a note of panic this time. “Are you staying over at Eddie’s? Did you and Gareth fight?” She asked the last question with hope, as if it was something that simple.
She knew I would often escape to Eddie’s if Gareth pushed me too far. But I had an extra set of clothes there already; I didn’t need a packed bag for that.
I shook her off my arm, the action near painful at the stricken look on her face. “Don’t, Dove. Go back to bed.”
When I walked out the door, she followed.
“Was it because of me? Because I came in late? If it was, I’m sorry. I can talk to Gareth in the morning,” she begged, as if it was that simple.
With my heart breaking into more pieces than I could ever possibly put back together, I stomped off the porch toward my truck, ignoring her trailing behind me like a lost little puppy.
She kept calling my name, loud enough I was worried she’d wake Josie, or worse, draw the attention of my father. I turned back only to see her wincing as she crossed the gravel barefoot.
“Dove,” I barked, emotions pitching my voice overly loud, scared and sad and worried she’d hurt herself all rolled into one. I was a swirl of emotions in a hollowing shell, like one of those tornados in a jar. “Get back in the house. Go back to bed.” The words left my lips robotically, repeating the only thing I could think to say.
“Tell me where you’re going,” she wailed, tears falling as I tossed my duffle into the bed of the truck carelessly, the meager contents inside worthless to me when I was leaving the only thing that mattered behind.
I yanked the driver's side door open, dodging her grasping hands as she tried desperately to stop me, and slid behind the wheel. I slammed the door, careful not to catch her fingers, andjammed the lock. She tugged at the handle, but it didn’t budge. Through the glass her voice came, muffled and frantic: “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on!?”
Because I don’t want to see the disgust in your eyes, too.
All I saw in the rearview mirror was the pure, unadulterated sorrow in her eyes as I drove away. It took everything in me to tear my gaze from that haunting image—and never look back.
20
DOVE
My words echoed between us with finality. Josh’s eyes flashed, dark and promising.
His fingers found the thin strap of my halter top, brushing it like he might follow it to the knot at my neck. I held my breath, waiting for him to pull—waiting for the moment he’d bare me. But it never came.
Instead, his touch followed the trail Torrence had mapped earlier, igniting my skin like a match to gasoline. Whatever Torrence had tried to stir in me, Josh now coaxed into a full-blown fire with nothing more than a barely-there touch.
Shallow pants fell from my lips as his hand moved glacier-slow. I squirmed, rising onto my toes to encourage his touch. The only contact between us was the delicate brush of his fingertips—featherlight, teasing—and I could hardly stand it. He held himself back, one arm braced above my head, surrounding me with his presence but refusing to let our bodies touch.
His distance made me impatient and twitchy, which was the only reason why I did what I did next. I boldly grabbed for his hand, guiding it to the top of my unbuttoned jeans, showing him exactly where I wanted that handright now.
His fingers dipped inside for one glorious, gratifying moment—and I nearly groaned. But before the sound could escape, both my wrists were seized and pinned above my head in one swift, breathless motion.
His large hands shackled me in place, keeping me from moving.
He leaned in close, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. “Do you want something, Dove?” His voice was low and teasing—as if he found this all amusing rather than painfully arousing.
