Page 78 of Collision

Chapter eighteen

Ben

I push the people around me, reds and blues bouncing off of surfaces and blinding me, as I search for her in the sea of people who won’t move. The whole night imploded. I brought her here to show her art and performances - to take her down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland - because I know she loves the book and because I wanted to have one moment with her that she would always love, no matter what happens with us. I brought her here andhewas here. And I acted like a fucking asshole.

My fist aches as I push past the throng and spot her, her golden waves pulled tight into a ponytail that swoops behind her, as she ducks her head and stumbles forwards.

My heart lurches.

I messed up. I really fucking messed up.

“Mik, wait!” I dart past a small group of people gathering in front of a man dressed in a mismatched patchwork coat rambling about madness and people - a performer drinking in his applause - and into a clearing. Three strides. That’s all it takes to get to her and I take them quickly, my heart pounding in my throat and my lungs burning with fear. I call out to her again and she finally stops moving.

“Mik.” I lower my voice, desperate to make this right - to apologise and keep her safe.

“I’m sorry,”she whispers and her words steal reality from me. I’ve misheard her. I’m sure of it. There’s no way that’s right.

“What?” My throat cracks as I take that final step until I’m close enough to touch her. Still, my hands remain by my side. Right now, with his voice still fresh in our minds, she doesn’t need me to touch her without permission. “Mik, why would you apologise?”

“I ran.” She turns to face me and something viscerally painful etches itself into the depths of her eyes. “I just ran and left you there and I’m so sorry, Ben. I just - I couldn’t stay there with him and then he said what he said and you…”

Her voice trails off as her eyes drop to my knuckles. They’re red from the impact, already swelling slightly, and I curse myself for acting without thinking.

“Mik, I’m the one who needs to apologise. I shouldn’t have hit him.” I suck in a hard breath as she moves a step closer and takes my hand in her fingers, gently running a thumb over the sting of pain and pausing when I flinch.

“I’m glad you did.” Her whisper is confessional. “But I hate that you had to.”

Using my good hand, I cup her cheek and duck slightly so I can look at her closely.

“I shouldn’t have hit him, Mik.” I’m determined with my words and her lip quivers as she looks at me. “I wasn’t thinking about what you needed in that moment and I shouldn’t have done it.”

I watch her eyes as I lean in, pausing before I bridge that gap between us fully, seeking permission. Slowly, Mikaela moves a step closer and tilts her face up to me, brushing her lips against mine with more tenderness than I deserve. This is a kiss for both of us. One to smooth the edges that have been left rough and raw in my moment of hazy rage; a kiss to reassure and remind. I caress her cheek as her lips part and I taste the salt of her tears. She pulls closer to me, her fingers moving to my neck as she anchors us, keeping us together while we give in to the need for connection.

And I feel it.

I feel the world shift slightly, like I’ve been standing on the wrong mark all this time, as if I have been off centre my entire life and the earth itself has just moved beneath me, correcting me and showing me this is where I have been aiming for all along.

As she pulls back from me, she sighs and I hold her face between my hands, brushing her tears away while she stares up at me.

“I’m so sorry to do this, but can we go home?”

My thumb brushes over her cheek and I smile at her. “Mik, you aren’t doing anything that needs an apology. Let’s go.”

Pulling her into my side, I lead her back to the car, my head swimming with guilt and anger and something so much scarier than either of those two feelings.

Mikaela

In the warm glow of street lamps that intermittently illuminate the pair of us, I sit watching Ben. His eyes roam from the road and over to me every few minutes and each time he smiles softly and moves his hand from the wheel to my leg, caressing my thigh with a softness that leaves my skin singing, before returning back to the wheel. We don’t speak. We don’t fall into easy conversation or laughter. We don’t try to fill the silence with music. We just let the air sit as it is and the world pass by around us.

Ben’s hair is mussed from the breeze that pushes in through the open window, dark curls forming in the slightly unkempt lengths and I smile to myself as I wonder what it is that makes him leave his hair a little longer these days. Or if he realises I noticed that he’s leaving it longer. When he drives he narrows his eyes as he concentrates on the road ahead and his bottom lip juts forwards slightly when another driver does something to irritate him.

Watching him, breathing in his features like this, brings a semblance of peace to my mind.

My eyes dance over the soft stubble along his jaw before roaming down his neck and over his shoulders. From this angle it’s impossible not to notice the strength of his arms; the discipline he has to have to keep the definition of muscle that sits beneath the dark jacket he’s wearing. His hands hold the wheel easily, like everything else he does it seems so casual, but the red of his knuckles is slowly turning a soft purple and my eyes linger on the marks as the echo of his fist connecting with Josh’s jaw rattles in my mind.

“What are you thinking?” Ben’s voice breaks the steady thrum of silence that wraps around us as we sit at a stop sign for longer than necessary and I look up to see his eyes trained on me. Beneath the blue is a babble of something unsure and pained and I want to erase it. I want to soothe him and assure him.

“We need to get some ice on your hand.” I try to smile, but it catches on something on the tip of my tongue and doesn’t meet my eyes.

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