The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 10: Car Ride (Hades)

"I'm not going," Bree says defiantly. "I need to look after Acorn."

That cat is snuggled up in the basket, living his best life sleeping.

"Bree, he's fine."

"I don't have anything to wear!" She says instead, pointing at her current clothes.

She's wearing sleep shorts and a sleep shirt—so pyjamas.

"You look sexy in that."

"No." She shakes her head and I rub my jaw tiredly.

"Look, I know you're scared," I say and she looks away. "But let me take you, just so you see it's not that bad."

"I just can't, Hades." She sighs.

"You stressed you're gonna see Rowan?"

"He can't see me with another guy," she runs a hand through her hair. "He'll try to hurt you."

I force myself not to laugh.

My job requirement is knowing defensive and offensive tactics for fighting all different types of people.

I'm pretty sure I can fucking manage someone like Rowan.

"Alright, let's say we drive there, and if you can't do it, I'll bring you back home," I suggest.

She looks like she's considering my idea.

"You'll bring me back if I can't?" She says slowly.

"Of course."

I need her to see that it's not bad, I need her to see that she can do it.

I don't fucking know why, I just need her to.

"Let me get changed," She chews the corner of her mouth. "And I'll think about it."

I'll take that.

As much as Bree can convince herself she doesn't mind being lonely, and that she likes never leaving this building, I know she wishes things were different.

It's sad to see her afraid to live life because of some pathetic man.

When Bree exits her bedroom she's wearing baggy pants and a baggy jumper and a nervous look on her face.

"Still sexy?" She asks.

"Still sexy." I grin.

She gives Acorn one last look before closing her eyes.

"It's just to the mall," She reassures herself. "I used to go the mall all the time."

She grabs a whole bunch of random stuff including her thick key chain and pepper spray.

I offer my hand and it's genuinely surprising when she slips hers into it.

Holding hands is fucking weird.

I don't know what it's supposed to feel like, but right now my hand feels like it's been lit on fire and all my nerve endings are burning.

"You look like you can fight," she tells me.

"I can."

"So, no one is gonna try anything while you're with me, right?"

"Right."

Mostly right anyway.

Sometimes drunk guys see me and think I'm a challenge.

They think if they can beat me in a fight then they're the toughest motherfuckers in the world.

But no one ever beats me in a fight.

Last time I lost a fight I was five years old and my opponent was my dad.