Page 30 of Don't Let Me Break
He grabs my hands and shoves them toward the vents. I almost moan at the warmth.
Holy shit, it feels good.
Goosebumps spread along my arms as the heat finds its way under my coat sleeves.
Giving me the side-eye, Mack’s jaw clenches like he can’t help it.
“Why didn’t you drive?” he demands.
“None of your business.”
“Answer the question, Kate.”
“Oh, so I’m not a porcupine anymore?” I quip.
“Not when it comes to your safety.”
“Well, if it counts for anything, you’re not acting like much of a golden retriever right now, either.”
“Golden retriever?”
“All nice and friendly and comforting and…”––seriously, stop talking, Kate!––“stuff,” I finish awkwardly.
His jaw clenches, and he gives me the side-eye again. “Why the hell didn’t you drive?”
“I felt like walking,” I lie.
He grinds his molars. “I hope you’re joking.”
“Why is it funny?”
“Do you not have a car or something?” he asks.
“I have a car.”
“Then why didn’t you drive it?”
“I only live like a mile away. Turn right at the next light, by the way,” I add, directing him to my house.
The blinker turns on with a flick of his fingers, and he merges into the right lane. “It’s not safe to walk outside by yourself at night.”
“Yeah, okay,Dad.” I fold my arms, annoyed. I probably shouldn’t be because the jerk has a point. But I don’t like being told what to do, and I sure as hell don’t like it when it’s coming from someone like Mack. Someone who has their life together. Someone who feels like they know everything. Because it’s bullshit. He doesn’t know a thing about me. Sure, he had a front-row seat to literally my biggest insecurity, but it doesn’t mean he knows me. Not even close.
“At least now it makes sense why your parents are so overprotective,” he mutters. I’m not sure the words are meant for me. It doesn’t stop me from hearing them. And it sure as hell doesn’t stop them from hitting their mark.
“Excuse me?” I shift in the passenger seat until my back is plastered to the door, and I glower at him fully.
“I’m just saying.” He waves his hand toward the angry sky as lightning cracks through the clouds. “You should know better, and if you have a car, you should use it. Especially at night when the forecast says it’s going to––”
“I can’t drive,” I snap. “That’s why I didn’t take my car.”
He frowns, glancing at me again, a bit of the judgment leaving his eyes. “What?”
“I said I can’t drive,” I repeat. “Not for another couple of months, thanks to my seizure, so don’t assume anything, asshole.”
We approach the next light, and he gently taps the brakes, slowing down but staying silent as he processes my word vomit. And oh boy, do I regret said word vomit. I should have never said anything at all. I should’ve let him assume I’m an irresponsible brat instead of allowing him to see the truth. Because the truth hurts worse. The truth is corrupted by things out of my control. And I hate being out of control. I hate having my license taken away. I hate how, even now, I could wind up unconscious, shaking in the passenger seat of Macklin’s SUV since, apparently, my medication’s going bonkers. Sure, the odds aren’t particularly high, but still. They’re there. And they’re higher than for most people. I hate how no matter what I do, it still affects me. It still affects my decisions and how others look at me. Ordon’tlook at me, considering Mack’s gaze is currently glued to the road, his knuckles white with tension as he throttles the steering wheel.
I’ve pissed him off.