As I pulled the car into park, I smoothly released Avery's seatbelt and slipped an arm around her waist. No faster than she could raise an eyebrow, I drew her to my side of the Ferrari.
Something about her closeness was thrilling to me. Thrilling in a way that none of my past relationships had implored.
Avery tilted her head to see me, then in the opposite direction. Confusion altered her soft, beautiful features. After a half hour of speeding on the highway and small roads throughout town, I'd pulled off into an abandoned parking lot.
"Why did you stop?" she asked me.
"I want you to tell me what's going on." I turned her until she was nestled near my chest, keeping a thumb beneath her chin. "Why did you beg me you take you out here?"
"Beg is a strong word," she mumbled.
I quirked a brow. "Is it?"
"Yes," she insisted. "I just needed some fresh air."
I smirked lightly. She really thought fresh air looked like driving ninety miles per hour with the window down. "Would a walk through the woods not have sufficed?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Instead of answering, Avery slipped her hands under the lip of my collar — just where a tie would lay had I the decency to wear one. She drew closer and closer until she was nearly kissing me, but at the last moment I forced myself to pull away. As much as I enjoyed sharing moments like this with her, there was no way I was letting her use it as an excuse. I wasn't willing to be a mere distraction from her trauma.
"Avery," I murmured.
She tried once more to kiss me, sagging when I pulled away once again.
"I want you to be honest with me," I told her.
"Like you're so honest with me?"
A low sigh caught in my throat, but I managed to restrain it. "Hey," I said, gripping her shoulders. "I am honest with you, Heiress. I know it might not seem like it —"
"No," she agreed, arms folded. "It doesn't."
"Well at least I'm trying." I dragged a hand down my face, staring out the windshield in exhaustion. The dark clouds gathering on the horizon seemed to echo my thoughts.
Avery was quiet awhile. She rested her head back against the seat and fought to maintain her trembling — which I was still dying to know the benefactor of. But before I could press the subject further, she pulled a hand to her heart and breathed deeply.
"I . . ." Her voice went dry and trailed off before a cough reaffirmed it. "I started having flashbacks."
Shoulders stiff, my hand tightened on the steering wheel out of habit. "The shooting?"
"No. I — I guess they're not bad flashbacks. I'm just grieving."
Oh.
"Your mom," I presumed.
Avery didn't nod. She didn't say anything else, either, as she focused on her breathing, on keeping her head held high without my support.
She'd always been like this; always so stubborn about her independence and her ability to accomplish tasks without help. And while I had every confidence in her, it didn't mean that I was willing to let her face opposition alone.
No one deserved that.
"You need to cry," I informed her.
She looked at me, disoriented. "Huh?"
"You need to cry, Heiress." I wiped beneath her eyes with my thumb. I figured the reason she was shaking so hard was out of restraint. "How long have you been forcing back the tears?"
"I'm not," she said.
"You are."
When she shook her head again, a whimper escaped her throat, and I took her into my arms before her walls could crash down completely. For awhile she cried gently, but eventually they caved to ugly sobs that stained my shirt permanently in mascara and eyeshadow.
I didn't mind at all.
If this was what it took to heal her — if this was what she needed to stitch together her heart — then I would be here everyday to give her that solace.
Avery Grambs deserved to truly live.
And if I couldn't give her that, I didn't know who could.
