Blind | h.s. [COMPLETE]

Chapter Seven

Harry hadn't stopped cursing at himself since she'd disappeared into the bathroom. Somehow, he'd fucked things up with Paisley. Now she was acting distant and uncertain and even a little shy around him. And even though he hadn't known her very long, all of these seemed out of character for the Paisley he'd come to know and...really like. His Paisley was warm and open and confident. He had the distinct feeling he'd done something to clip her wings. And he was pissed as hell at himself, especially because he didn't know what to do to fix it.

And he was running out of time.

At least she'd agreed to let him drive her home. He spent the drive thinking about what to say to her and how to say it. Her stare didn't help his concentration. There was no avoiding the clear view she'd have of the ugliness of his scar. Plastic surgery when he was a teenager had smoothed out the worst of the tissue and mostly restored a natural hairline at the back of his neck, but it was still big and obvious and often made people first meeting him uncomfortable because it was hard to avoid looking at. It didn't help that the curved, thin line of ruined skin couldn't grow hair, which made it stand out even more. He thought of the damn thing as his first tattoo—it certainly stood out as much as any of his colorful ink.

He let her have a good look, though. Because he didn't look normal and never would. And though she seemed to accept everything he'd revealed to her so far, he knew he could be a lot to take on board. He wanted her to be sure. So he only smiled over at her. He took out his tension on the gear shift gripped tightly in his right hand.

There was little he could do to drag out the trip to her apartment. Even in mid-day traffic, it was no more than a fifteen-minute ride. And, of course, when he wouldn't have minded some red lights, every single one was green.

With the Jeep idling at the curb, Harry shifted in his seat. "Paisley, I—"

"Harry—" she started at the same time.

They both smiled weakly. Harry swallowed a groan. Paisley's hair was windblown around her shoulders and her eyes looked tired, but she was so damn pretty. "You first," he said. Chicken shit.

"Thanks for keeping me such good company tonight." She gave him her first genuine smile.

Hope filled his chest. "It was my pleasure, Paisley."

She nodded and reached down to grasp the straps to her bags in one hand while her other went to the door handle. Harry's jaw clenched. "Okay, then, I guess...good night, then." She engaged the handle and pushed the door open.

His stomach rolled. She shifted herself and hopped down onto the sidewalk, then turned to drag her bags behind her. What the fuck, Harry, stop her. Tell her. "I'd like to—"

She shoved the door shut, drowning out his words, and leaned against the open window. He swore she looked sad but wasn't sure, just didn't know her facial expressions well enough to read them. Yet. Please let there be a "yet."

"It's okay. I understand."

Harry gaped, then pressed his lips into a tight line. Understand? Understand what?

She tapped her hand twice against the door interior. "Thank you for the ride. Have a good night, Harry."

"Uh, yeah." He ran his hand roughly over his scar as she turned, slung her bags over her shoulder, and walked across the wide sidewalk toward the brightly lit windowed lobby.

Uh, yeah? uh, yeah?

When she was almost to the door, Harry threw the Jeep in first and pressed his foot on the accelerator. He pulled out into the drive. The growing distance from Paisley felt so damn wrong that Harry stopped in the middle of the street and looked back over his shoulder.

Paisley was standing in the lobby. She was watching him, sadness clearly etched over her beautiful features.

He growled. Fuck. This.

Harry slammed the transmission into reverse. The tires screeched against the pavement as he jolted the vehicle back into the spot. He pulled forward just as gracelessly to straighten out. He wrenched the keys from the transmission and smacked the headlights off and heaved his body against the door, which he slammed shut.

Stalking around the back of the Jeep, he glared up at Paisley—glaring not so much at her as at his own idiocy. Her eyes widened. Her lips froze somewhere between a smile and an O. She pushed and held the door open for him.

And he hoped for all he was worth he was correctly reading the desire on her face.