Page 46 of The Professor's Wife

The panic.

The isolation.

The way my body had gone rigid, like it was bracing for the end—

I blinked hard, trying to push it away. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe properly. The sun was too bright. The lines on the map blurred. I felt like I was slipping again, like the ground beneath me was tilting.

Tristan’s expression shifted. He folded the map slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. I finally looked up, forcing a deep breath into my lungs.

“Okay,” he said smoothly, like it was no issue at all. “We’ll take it off the route.”

I studied him closely, aware that he had seen my reaction—was seeing it play out before him now—and yet he didn’t ask a single question.

“You’re changing your route? Just like that?”

He nodded. “Of course. We’re in this together, and I’m not the boss, Daze.”

I didn’t speak for a few moments, gathering my thoughts. I thought of what we had just discussed in the van. Of why he was headed there in the first place.

“But…that’s where you want to scatter your father’s ashes.”

“It can wait.”

“Tristan—”

“I’m not taking you back toward somewhere you just left,” he cut in firmly. “Fuck that. The point is to head into the unknown.”

The way he said it, like it was obvious, made my throat tighten.

I reached out, almost without thinking, and touched his hand. Just lightly. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin against mine.

In response, he turned his hand over, opening it wide for me to take. Despite his hand being so much larger than mine, they clicked together perfectly.

Another flash hit me.

Blood—so much blood—pooling around me—

What have you done, Daisy?

I squeezed Tristan’s hand and forced it out of my mind.

I sat beside Tristan, feeling nervous as we drove out of the town of Cobbersway. An old MP3 player wired into the van’s speakers blasted a bass-heavy song at high volume. The music relaxed my nerves, but I still chewed my nails anxiously.

British Columbia’s interior was filled with long, winding roads. The bush was dense on either side, and sprawling mountains rose in the distance. It was so picturesque beneath the sun and cloudless blue sky that it reminded me of one of those filtered backdrops you picked in a photography studio.

Despite the views, I couldn’t help looking over at the driver.

My eyes trekked the tanned skin of his arm. Even in a loose shirt, his biceps strained against the sleeves. His light hair was messy and a couple of inches too long. He had a straight nose and a fuller bottom lip.

I’d snacked on that bottom lip all night long.

“Where are we going?” I probably should have asked that already.

It occurred to me that, in that moment, my fate was in this man’s hands. He could take me into the middle of nowhere, and there was nothing I could do about it.

He glanced at me, and he must have read my thoughts because he smirked mischievously. “Don’t trust me?”

“I trust you enough,” I returned, amused, though at the same time I thought: Nothing he could do could be worse than the grief I had endured.