Page 17 of The Darkest Chase
“I see.” A discerning look lingers on me. “Let’s get you on your feet. We’ll see how steady you are and if I’ll be driving you to the medical center or waiting for the ambulance.”
“No!”
I go stiff with fresh panic. I can’t.
I spent half my childhood in that medical center.
I know those depressing institutional walls by heart. A cold, sterile ghost of loneliness.
As if I wasn’t already totally humiliated, I see half the town gathered around us in a distant circle, watching me batting my eyes in Officer Ainsley’s arms.
Ugh.
I can’t stand going back there.
But Officer Ainsley just stares with this cool, intense question in his eyes.
My face heats. I lower my eyes to the point where his long, pale hand curls against my elbow to support me.
Holy hell.
I’ve never seen anyone with skin paler than mine. I can see the veins snaking along the backs of his hands and through his fingers, huge and powerful, making him seem even more like some strange beast of the night.
The only color is in his fingertips and his knuckles—thick, coarse, red. His hands seem too big and sharp for such an elegant man.
“Talia?” he whispers.
“S-sorry,” I stutter. Speech comes easier now as my throat slowly relaxes. “It’s just… the prednisone’s working. I’m fine. I’m used to this, but I don’t want to waste anyone’s time at the medical center. I just need a few minutes. I need some water.”
I’m expecting him to tell me I have to go to the medical center anyway. For him to completely dismiss me and override my wishes.
It’s the same thing the doctors always did, and just about anyone else besides Grandpa, always treating me like this glass doll that has to be locked away in a protective case and never allowed to live.
But after a few long seconds, Officer Ainsley nods.
“Compromise,” he growls. “If you can get up and walk to Red Grounds with me, we’ll sit down, talk, and have something to drink. If you’re still feeling okay after that, I’ll let you go. If not, I’ll give you a ride to the medical center. Fair?”
Too fair, maybe.
I stare at him.
I know he’s just looking after me, being responsible, but—
No. That’s the wooziness talking.
That, and the fact that he’s so captivating that I can’t stop looking at him.
He raises both brows. “You’re starting to worry me, Miss Grey. Are you processing?”
“Processing?” I squeak.
“Are my words getting through?”
“Yes! Loud and clear. And um, I told you before, it’s Talia. None of that Miss Grey business.” I’m about to blush myself into passing out again. “Sorry, I’m just—”
“You’re asking if you should trust me,” he offers.
I freeze.