Page 66 of Dirty As Puck
“I just need you safe,” I say finally, the admission low and ragged.
Her brow furrows. “Safe?” she questions. “From what?”
I don’t answer. My focus stays pinned to the road, scanning every turnoff, every shadow. Silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I know she hates evasions. Reporters are wired to be curious, but she must hear the raw edge in my voice, because she doesn’t push again.
When we reach the hotel, I kill the engine but don’t move. My eyes sweep the street, checking twice, then a third time. Nothing. Just traffic and neon buzzing against the night. Still, my chest won’t unclench.
“I’ll walk you up,” I say. It isn’t a question.
Rochelle studies me, searching my face. For once, she doesn’t argue. She just nods.
Inside, the elevator hums too loud, and moves too slow. I keep my stance between her and the doors, shoulders tense until we reach her floor. At her room, she swipes the key card, then pushes the door open.
“You’re coming in?” she asks softly.
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “Just for a while.”
She steps aside, letting me pass. I trail in, scanning the corners like it’s instinct, then stop in the center of the room, restless energy crackling through me.
Rochelle sets her notebook on the desk, watching me carefully. She doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. She already sees it, the fear I can’t disguise.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, hands buried in my hair.
If Derek wanted me broken, then he sure found a way to do it. One threat to her, and I already feel destroyed.
25
The hotel room feels too still after the door shuts. It’s not silence exactly, there’s the small sound of the mini-fridge, and the faint traffic from the street below but Kai’s presence makes everything sharper, heavier, like the air itself is holding its breath.
I slip out of my jacket, tossing it over the back of the chair, and head to the little fridge tucked against the wall.
“Lucky for you,” I say, trying to make the air less tense, “I have wine. Not the good kind, but it counts as a drink.”
I pour into two glasses, the sound a small comfort. When I glance back, Kai is standing in the middle of the room, shoulders tense, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks like he’s bracing against something I can’t see.
“Here.” I hold out a glass. “Doctor’s orders.”
He takes it, but his fingers are stiff, the glass hanging near his thigh instead of anywhere close to his mouth. He doesn’t even glance at it. Instead, his eyes are locked on the carpet, like staring hard enough at the floor might keep him from unraveling.
I sip mine to cover the twist of worry in my chest. “Not even one toast? To…uh, surviving another day?”
He huffs a sound that isn’t quite a laugh but still doesn’t drink. The tension coming off him is palpable, wrapping the whole room in its grip. I sink onto the couch, setting my glass on the table in front of me.
“Kai,” I say quietly. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
That finally makes him look up. His eyes are shadowed, his jaw stiff. He doesn’t answer right away, he just lowers himself onto the edge of the couch beside me, his wineglass untouched on the table. For a second, I think he might actually tell me. But then he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.
“You don’t want to know,” he mutters.
“Yes, I do.” I shift, angling toward him. “I want to know why you’ve been so distant. Why you’re carrying something alone when you don’t have to.”
His hand runs over his face, fingers dragging through his hair like he’s trying to scrub away whatever’s haunting him. “It’s not that simple.”
“Try me.”
He drops his hand, and the look he gives me is raw enough to make my throat tighten. For a moment I expect words. Instead, he reaches for me, his arm sliding around my shoulders, pullingme into his side. His strength is familiar, but the way he clings to me is not. It feels desperate, urgent, like he needs an anchor.
“I just need you right now,” he says, voice low, roughened at the edges.
