Page 41 of Facing Off
She wanted to make sure our experience wasexemplary (her words) and wondered if we wanted a tour of the upgrades Hughes’ donations to the hospital are making possible…to some Jesse Osler wing?
I waited for the self-aggrandizing hockey captain to puff out his chest and nod. Instead his face contorted, he apologized to the director, and said we were in a hurry and that he’d come back another time.
She didn’t seem convinced that he would, making me think he’s dodged the invitation before.
“Hey, Sonya? Seriously, I’m sorry about the whole husband thing again. If you want me to figure out how to fix it…”
“No.” I don’t look at him, more tired than angry now.
Though, Ishouldstill be pissed, because he did it again.
He charmed the room as if life is a game, playing Madame Kozlova like a fiddle, and claiming me as hiswifelike the word holds no weight. As ifconsequencesare something you doodle in the sand at low tide with some swirly font.
“You want to make it up to me? Take me home,” I order. So much has happened today, and I need to be alone to process it all.
“So, you want me inside your place?”
I swivel in his direction.The thought of him snooping around my apartment for the next twenty-four hours… “What? No, I don’t need you around. I’m strong.”
“The absolute strongest.”
“That’s not—” I groan. “Ugh, don’t patronize me.”
“I swear I’m not. I agree.” He lowers the visor, because sun is pouring its last hurrah through the windshield, illuminating half his face into a fiery landing strip. We backed out of the hospital parking lot and pulled onto the street. The gearshift changes under his big palm. “You’re one the strongest people I know.”
My throat tightens.How much does he think he knows about me?
Hughes’ eyes don’t leave the road as he rakes a hand through his hair.
“You know…” His voice shifts. It’s gone deeper and quieter. “I bet you’d rather collapse on the floor of your apartment, alone and concussed, than ask for help.”
My heartbeat stumbles. Okay, fine. I guess he understandsthatpart of me. A pretty big part.But where is he going with this?
“I don’t know how you decided to call me today, but I’m grateful you did. Because I’m here now. And call it an obligation to Quinn or whatever you want, but I’m not leaving you unmonitored.”
The car slows to a stop at a red light.
I grab the side of the door. “Listen. I have things to do.”
“Both of us do. But—” He finally makes eye contact, his blue eyes growing somehow even more serious. “I’m not asking. We’ll either go to my place or yours for the night.” His gaze drops to my hand. “And if you try jumping out right now, I’ll get out of the car and carry you back inside.”
Blood drums in my ears. Imagining that? Why am I battling a shiver? I should feel hot outrage, because how dare he?!
The thing is, I know he’s not bluffing.
This man is unhinged. He has no limits. Even now, the light has turned green, cars are starting to honk behind us, and he hasn’t moved.
I wave my hand in the air, hissing, “Go!”
He smiles, satisfied. We start driving again.
“God.” I tip back my head.
“God? My name’s Adrian. But you’re welcome to call me God whenever you want, darling!”
I groan, ignoring the return of his blatant cockiness. Though some part of me might also be glad for it, because this version of Hughes I understand. It’s the one I’m used to. The one I can predict. That other version?
The one whose face went tight the second he burst into my hospital room and saw me, who didn’t hold back, asking questions like, “Who did this to you, darling?” and the one who read through my concussion care instructions while his car warmed up, three times…
