Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 54- Callie

The hopeful air of the car has been stifled and I can't help but wonder if it would've been better to leave when Rave gave me the option. Then I picture Dario's face and I know I never could have left without telling him goodbye, especially after the night we spent together. The scenery outside my window is a blur of farmland, construction, cows, faded billboards, and houses with weather stripped siding. We could be anywhere in rural Texas and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

The easy-going vibe we had earlier is gone and I miss it. The music is still there, but muted, maybe not in volume but in tone. It seems even the shuffle gods feel the mood. Rave's fingers move across the steering wheel on autopilot and his mouth moves with the words so subtly, I feel like a stalker for watching. It's cute.

One of us will have to break first. Two candles flickering at the end of their wicks.

"Ahem," I clear my throat and then cringe at the harsh way it sounds. The alternative was my voice coming out like fresh gravel and I'm debating whether that would have been the better option. "Thank you," I offer as my frustration with the silence burns out. "For saving me. I realize I never said it."

Being with Rave is a careful dance. On a surfboard. In a hurricane.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he sighs. "A dead hostage is worse than a live one."

And now we are back to square one.

"Why do I bother trying," I mutter. Body snatching is sounding less like a conspiracy theory and more like the answer to the man beside me.

Mr. Whiskers would never have my brain in shambles like this. Truly he's the only man I need in my life when this is over. And my stubborn self just threw a perfectly good opportunity to make that dream a reality away for what? Dario, a man who's perfect for me minus the whole wanted fugitive problem. Jaxson has so many red flags I could fly him like a kite, but I seem to have come down with a case of colorblindness that I have no intention of trying to cure. God needs a therapist and a hug and all I want to do is kneel at his feet while he gives me an ounce of his thick, gravel voiced praise. Sign me up for therapy too I guess to sort out all the daddy issues that is trying to tackle. Rave, full of anger and love, and he wields them like weapons against everyone. I'm so desperate for those weapons to protect me instead of wounding me. It feels like it's close, but then the moment is gone and he's back to seeing me on the outside.

"Do you want more?" The annoyance in his voice tells me this isn't the first time he's asked. Lost in my head again. I really should know better by now than to let myself get distracted.

"Mixed signals? Headaches? Sure, why not," I huff out.

"I meant coffee," he hesitates. "Maybe I should add to the list. I can pick up some Tylenol and whatever else you might need," he trails off.

I see red. He can't be insinuating what I think he is. He can't be that dumb. I take a deep inhale and steel my spine. "Whatever else I might need? For what?"

He looks at my face and back at the road probably three times before he goes on digging. "For entertainment purposes. We got cards and books older than any of us and boring as hell. I grew up with sisters. I'm not falling for this trap."

"You have sisters?"

"Two. One older, one younger."

"So, you're the middle child?" I giggle at the mental image of Rave being the middle child surrounded by two demanding sisters. But I can see it, it fits. He's so protective of what he considers his family because they're the only thing that is solely his.