Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Ten

Harry has noticed a difference in how she behaves around him since she met the rest of the boys at the safe house.

It's nighttime. The clouds obscure any view of the stars hanging above, and the moon is a waning crescent, so not much light is provided for them on their way back to her apartment save for the streetlights.

Tonight was Harley's second job.

He could tell it surprised her how soon she was needed again after the last hit, a week to the day from the job she almost got them caught on, but rather than being met with any of her bratty antics, he was met with silence. She drove better than any of his previous drivers. It was as though when her hands were placed on the wheel, the boundaries that distinguished her and the vehicle blurred into nothing. She anticipated every necessary turn and jolting increase in speed seconds before he would've thought to make them. She was flawless, but not herself.

Before they arrived, she didn't pester him with any questions. It was something he was thankful for at first before natural suspicion overtook him. The way she acted—skittish, silent, and avoiding interaction with him at any cost—was the antithesis of how she had the last time. And it isn't like he misses it, God knows how much he loathed hearing her run her mouth at him, but it has made him more attentive to her.

He's driving now, as per tradition, on their way to her apartment building.

After switching out the cars in the parking garage, she sat with her face turned away to stare out the window the entire time. His first guess is that it has something to do with what they did. It was a bad idea, sure, but it wasn't terrible. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of, at least he didn't think so. It was hot, they got it out of their systems, and now they could continue to work with clear heads, so what's the issue?

Well, he's determined to uncover it.

The second guess he makes while stealing brief glances over at her curled-up form on the passenger's side is that she did something. Something that has made her avoid him as not to give anything away—something like telling other people about him, Leo, and the other men. He can't quite place it yet, whether it's about the sex or something far more damning, but he won't let up until he knows.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Harry says to break the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he checks to see if her attention shifted toward him. "M'not used to you being so well-behaved."

In the rear-view mirror on her side, he prepares to revel in the sight of her face twisting up into an expression of disgust only to find her staring blankly out into the night. A muscle in her face twitches. She fights the urge seated inside of her to submit and give him the attention he so clearly craves, but she doesn't. She fears that if she engages with him, she may lose sight of her thoughts and say something incriminating about the money.

Harley doesn't say a word.

Another few minutes pass in idle quiet before they arrive at her building. Unlike last time, he doesn't pull to a stop in front of the main entrance. He finds a free spot along the opposite side of the street where most residents park and turns off the engine, which is finally what forces her to turn and look at him.

"Why did you turn the car off?"

He shrugs.

"Saving gas."

The response he gets isn't a roll of her eyes or a snarky retort, it's her unbuckling her seatbelt and slipping out of the vehicle with no further fuss. So, he does the same. His seatbelt comes undone with a click, and he's met with a night chill that raises goosebumps beneath the soft cotton of his hoodie.

When he first arrived in New Orleans, he never found it cold in the fall. His body was acclimated to temperatures commonly found far north, across the sea where he was raised before moving here, yet he's found himself susceptible to it as of late. It took years for it to get to him. With a head harder than a cast-iron pot, he used to deny getting cold even when his arms crossed over his body for warmth. He never wanted to stay here long enough to become one of those people he scoffed at for bundling up when it dropped to sixty-two degrees.