Page 74 of Penny For Your Thoughts
They crossed the road, and Diem dragged Darcy around to the driver’s side. He yanked the door open, shoved the seat forward, and growled, “Get in.”
Darcy scrambled to comply, getting tangled in the seat belt before tumbling into the back and landing on top of Echo, who barked her objection.
The instant he was out of the way, Diem shoved the seat in place and climbed in, slamming the door and jamming his keys in the ignition.
“Um…” I glanced into the back seat where Darcy and Echo stared at one another. “D, this is kidnapping.”
“It’s not. He’s coming willingly.” Diem glared at Darcy in the rearview mirror and sharpened his tone. “Right?”
“Y-yeah. T-totally willing. Does your dog bite?”
“Not as hard as me.”
I stared at Diem with disbelief, but my boyfriend put the Jeep in gear and pulled into traffic.
Darcy said nothing. He stared helplessly out the window as far away from Echo as he could get. Echo poked her head into the front seat, nudging Diem’s shoulder, but Diem growled for her to sit back with the same snip in his tone he’d used on the kid. He never used that voice with Echo, and the poor dog seemed confused, but she returned to the back seat.
I had no idea what was going on or what had tipped him over the edge, but when Diem didn’t aim for the office and instead turned toward home, I risked asking, “What’s happening?”
“He’s not staying in a fucking crack house.”
“It’s not a crack house,” Darcy mumbled.
Diem lanced daggers via the rearview mirror, and Darcy shrank lower in the seat. “It’s not,” the kid said petulantly.
“I ought to call your fucking landlord.”
“He already knows, asshole. He doesn’t care.”
“Um, D…” I wanted to remind him that this kid wasn’t our responsibility. I wanted to ask about his intentions, but the words wouldn’t form.
Fifteen minutes later, Diem pulled into the underground car park at our building and slotted the Jeep beside my Jetta. He killed the engine, and silence engulfed us.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Diem strangled the life out of the steering wheel, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched.
He closed his eyes and pressed air through his tight jaw, once, twice, three times in even intervals. I imagined him counting backward from ten. It was something he did when he was particularly stressed. Dr. Peterson had taught him various means of controlling his anger, and Diem used them religiously.
They worked… most of the time.
I glanced at Darcy, who shrugged.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“D?”
“I’m fine.” He shouldered the door open and jerked the seat forward, ordering Darcy to get out.
Echo followed, and Diem leashed her.
We rode the elevator in awkward silence, the walls pressing in too close, the air thick and hard to breathe. My hip throbbed, so I shifted my weight to the uninjured side, except that was the ankle I’d twisted.
“Why is he coming home with us?” I asked when the doors slipped open.
Diem snagged Darcy’s coat sleeve and dragged him down the hall. “Not now, Tallus.”
