But I could still see the outlines of the curbs, marking the way.
The drive to Creed’s place took twice as long as it usually did from my shop, and all the while, Bernice squirmed in her seat.
Her breathing had escalated, also, and I was watching her like a hawk the entire drive.
Every slip caused her breath to catch. Every bump caused her to inhale swiftly.
By the end of the drive, she was hanging onto her breath for dear life.
“You got your inhaler?”
She patted her pocket and then looked at me, eyes wide as fuck.
She didn’t have it.
Goddammit.
That was going to make me show my hand.
“Where’d you leave it?” I asked.
“The counter at The Mercantile.”
I reached over her and yanked the glove box open.
Since my truck was older than dirt, the glove box fell off at her feet, and several things fell out.
A box of condoms—expired, because I hadn’t used them since a certain someone had moved in next door.
A bottle of Jack.
And an inhaler that I kept in my truck, her medicine and dosage, just in case she ever needed it and didn’t have it.
She would ask why, I was sure.
I’d have to come up with a good lie.
But no questions came out of her mouth.
She just snatched the inhaler up, shook it, then pressed it to her mouth.
The truck continued to idle, the old Cummins Diesel purring in the background, as she closed her eyes and waited for the medicine to do its job.
She shivered, and I reached back behind my seat and produced a blanket that I also kept there just in case I saw her and she was shivering.
I was a fucking goner.
I had her favorite foods in my cabinets at home. Her favorite blanket brand. Her favorite drinks in my fridge.
Literally, I stalked her so fucking well that I probably knew her better than she knew herself.
I wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and her entire body relaxed instantly. “Oh.”
“That’s the only one I have, though,” I said apologetically. “You get any colder, and I’ll have to take my jacket off.”
Her eyes went soft as she took a deep breath.
Much easier than the ones before it.