Previously: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18 , Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Scars
Until the moment the Uber pulled up to the curb in front of her flat, it truly hadn’t occurred to her:
She hadn’t been back in a car since the night of the accident.
She wasn’t even sure it was intentional; there had been no strict need to drive anywhere, as her flat was within easy walking distance of the hospital and the corner market where she bought her groceries. But judging by the way her blood chilled at the sight of the idling vehicle, Claire had to admit that perhaps there had been an element of subconscious avoidance in play.
Which was absolutely ridiculous, she scolded herself, as she watched Jamie sling her duffel into the boot and climb into the back seat without a second thought.
Jamie, who had been thrown through a windshield and spent six weeks in a hospital bed.
Jamie, who had bled out his entire vascular volume three times over.
Jamie, who had been septic, untouched, and morphine-dependent, even when it made him so sick, even when the retching ripped at the gashes and the road burn and his fresh graft sites, and—
And yet she was the one who was hanging back, wringing the straps of her handbag and chewing her lip until she tasted blood. It wasn’t until he ducked his head to look at her, an eyebrow quirked inquisitively, that Claire climbed in beside him.
Her hand was pale and shaking on the door handle as she pulled it shut.
No child lock on this one, she reassured herself, and forcibly exhaled the breath she’d been holding.
She discovered rather quickly that keeping her eyes squeezed shut only heightened her awareness of her other senses: the rumble of the engine, every bump and curve in the road, the whoosh of other cars passing too close, Jesus H. Christ, too close…
So, when the glare of Jamie’s mobile screen brightened the black-red of her eyelids, Claire slowly peeled one eye open, then the other, needing to focus on something else — anything but the drive itself. She watched him scroll through his contacts, texting his close friends and family members one at a time to give them the heads-up that she would be accompanying him home.
As the responses began to flood back in quick succession, he immediately dropped his mobile lower in his lap and angled it away from her, making a valiant effort to shield her from every cutting remark that flashed across his screen.
For his benefit, Claire feigned oblivion.
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