Only Broken

2 | The Trip Back Home

Chapter Two: The Trip Back Home

"Thanks for doing this, Bass." I wheeled my black marble suitcase toward the truck of his car.

He smirked before lifting it into the trunk of his car. It was currently five in the evening, days since I found out about my father's... condition.

Sebastian had come over to drive me to the airport so I would reach my flight on time.

"What the hell did you pack?" He laughed and walked to the driver's door.

I rolled my eyes and did the same. We both closed our doors simultaneously before I turned toward him with raised brows. "Why? Is it too heavy for the great Sebastian Miller?"

A loud, cocky scoff left him. "Come on, Becky," he drawled, flashing me a smirk before lifting his arm to flex his bicep. "Nothing can stop these bad boys."

I smiled and reached forward to tap his head. "This will."

"Because I'm so smart?"

"Because there is nothing there," I chirped, sitting back in my seat.

He playfully glared before starting up his white Mercedes-Benz. We drove in silence for a few moments before he glanced back to me, watching me curiously.

"So, why are you going back home? I thought you were gonna move back in the beginning of May."

My gaze shifted to my jean-covered thighs. "It's my friends' birthday, and I promised her fiancé that I would go," I shrugged. It wasn't a complete lie, though.

He was silent for another second. "What else?" He asked softly, and I slowly shifted my gaze, so I was looking at his side profile.

When he pressed the break during the red light, he focused back to me. "My dad has cancer," I whispered, and he gaped.

A car behind him honked and we both looked toward the light, which was now green. He waited a few seconds before grumbling up a reply. "Oh God, Becky. I'm so sorry."

My jaw clenched when I looked out the window. "If God really existed, my dad wouldn't be suffering."

He had been driving for a little more than five minutes before he spoke up once again. "My dad died when I was six," he admitted, and my eyes slowly moved around so I was facing him. "He was hardly around most of the time, and from what I can remember, work sucked. I was also pretty young, so I can't blame him."

Blame him? Blame him for what?

Questions about his past threatened to escape my lips, but I shoved the urge behind, knowing that it was probably a sensitive subject.

We drove the rest of the way to the airport in silence, and in forty minutes, I was standing on the side while he pulled out my suitcase from his trunk. "Thanks, Bass," I smiled as he rolled it towards me.

He nodded. "Have fun this week, Becca," he told me, and I smiled. Feeling like we shouldn't leave each other on stiff terms, I took two steps forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. "I'll see you," I mumbled before moving away from him.

Without looking back, I grabbed my suitcase, and made sure my bag was on top before stepping inside the airport.

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My dumb ass forgot about the time difference.

When I told mom that I'd be home at eleven-thirty at night, she assumed her time. But of course, Los Angeles was three hours behind Massillon, Ohio, meaning that over there, it was almost three in the morning.