Wicked Love | √

Thirty One

And I never want to experience that again.

♢

We are quiet the entire car ride to his place. But it's not uncomfortable. It's what I need. Just his presence next to me. To know he's here. He's not hurt or...even worse. He's by my side. His hand is clutched in mine and I refuse to let it go.

I can't. I won't.

My father's words seem so trivial now. On a sigh I come to the conclusion that he doesn't get to define me. He doesn't get to make me feel small. I am better than that. I am better than he will ever know.

But that's okay. Because I know it, and that's all that matters.

Preston squeezes my hand as if he is able to read my mind and it makes my heart come to life on a flutter. He finally pulls up to his apartment building and we quickly make our way inside. My chest clenches at the memory of the last time I was here.

Wrath night.

The front desk manager nods at Preston as we enter the lobby and the elevator doors open for us as soon as we walk over to them.

We silently ride up to the penthouse as Preston's fingers tangle with mine once again. His hold on my hand is firm yet gentle and it's the perfect level of reassurance I need right now.

My emotions are all over the place and I don't know how to maneuver through them, but I know I also don't have to do it alone. Because Preston is by my side.

He opens the door to his apartment and pulls me inside with him. He lets go of my hand to head to the kitchen and grab two glasses along with a bottle of what looks like expensive dark liquor.

As he pours us glasses I kick off my boots by the door and slip off my jacket to place it on the hook by the entrance. I then walk over and hop up so I'm sitting atop of the concrete countertop.

He rounds the corner and sits down on the stool in front of me. I slowly spread my thighs so he's sitting between them.

Preston hands me the glass and we both take a much needed long sip. The liquor is smokey but has a sweet aftertaste that instantly warms my chest.

My teeth tease my bottom lip. "Are we going to talk about the fire?" Even saying the words has my pulse skyrocketing. We both know who is behind it. We both know who that fire was intended for.

He shakes his head. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" I question in shock.

"Finish your drink first," he encourages as he relaxes in his seat. He's quiet as he sips on the liquor. As if tonight didn't shake him to his core like it did me.

"And then we talk about the fire?" I push. I need answers. I don't like being in the dark.

"No," he replies calmly. "Then we talk about you ignoring me for three days."

My gaze drops to the glass in my hand.

"I gave you your space Jameson," he starts. "But you said not to let you run. So I'm not letting you run," he tells me as he reaches out to touch my knee. His thumb traces the inside of my thigh causing me to slowly melt.

"Can we talk about the fire first?" I ask not wanting to talk about me just yet.

"No more running," he declares. "Please talk to me."

My father's words play on repeat in my ears, but I don't run from the feeling bubbling inside of me this time. "I'm scared," I finally admit.

"Of Nate?"