Part 6 (1/2)
”Thank you,” I say softly. ”I know I can be stubborn sometimes. I just needed to...” I glance over at the paper. Where do I begin?
I take a deep breath. ”The police are definitely looking for me.”
His grip tightens on mine.
”But I don't know if they're going to chase me down across state lines,” I add quickly. ”Honestly, I don't know how any of this works. Maybe they're going to track my credit card or something. Maybe it's stupid to run, but-”
”I don't care if it's stupid.”
The intensity in his tone makes me forget everything else I was going to say.
”I don't care if this is reckless or idiotic or if they have every cop in the country looking for us,” he says. ”I'm with you all the way.”
I don't deserve this. I don't deserve for someone like Ward to look at me and promise me those things. I have a habit of dragging down the people who get close to me, and I don't want to pull him deeper into my mad whirlwind than I already have.
”There's nothing about you in the article,” I tell him. ”They don't know you're with me.”
”They'll know soon enough.”
”Your father might not know that you're with me.”
Something flashes in his eyes.
”He'll have noticed I'm gone,” he says, and the tenderness of his voice a moment ago has been replaced by something hard. ”He's not a moron. I'm pretty sure he's figured it out.”
Another thought occurs to me. Maybe I'm pus.h.i.+ng it, but I can't be silent.
”The police haven't figured it out yet. Or the press,” I remind him. ”Or if they have, they haven't revealed that information to the public. Maybe your father has something to do with that. Maybe he's protecting you.”
”You mean he's protecting himself. From scandal.”
I've ticked him off again, but I don't care.
”Look,” I say, ”I know that-”
”Here you are! Two pork belly specials.” Bill the waiter is back, armed with a smile and a tray full of steaming food. But though the smell is mouthwatering, I couldn't care less about eating right now. I'm forced to pull my hand back from Ward's to make room for our plates, but I lock eyes with him across the table.
He doesn't say a word.
”There you go,” Bill says, setting a dish in front of each of us. ”And some extra napkins. You'll be needing these.”
”Thanks,” Ward says. He sounds like he wants to sock the guy.
”Anything else I can get you folks?” Bill asks, completely oblivious to what I a.s.sumed was a very palpable cloud of tension over our table. ”Oh, almost forgot your silverware.” He fumbles in the deep pocket of his ap.r.o.n, then sets two napkin-wrapped silverware bundles down on the table.
”Oh, I was reading about this,” he adds.
I'm still looking at Ward, but Bill's comment is random enough that I glance up at him. The waiter isn't looking at us anymore. Instead, he's staring down at the newspaper sitting on the edge of the table.
I stiffen.
”The rich ones are always crazy, aren't they?” Bill says with a laugh. He pokes at the giant picture of my face. ”Having that much money does things to your head.”
It's all I can do to bite my tongue. But Ward suddenly reaches out and grabs the paper.
”Sometimes you can't know what's going on in someone's head,” he says, and the look he gives the waiter would send a lesser man scrambling back a few steps.
But Bill either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore Ward's tone.
”I'll say.” He gives another laugh. ”No idea what's going on in that one's head.”
”No.” Ward's sitting perfectly upright now. ”I mean you shouldn't judge people until you know what they've been through.”
”Give me a rich guy's problems any day,” Bill says. ”Maybe her daddy shouldn't have bought her everything she ever wanted.”
Ward's on his feet so fast that he knocks over his gla.s.s of tea. It crashes across the table, drenching his pork belly special.
But my eyes aren't on the table. Neither are Bill's. With his height and his muscles, Ward's not exactly a small guy, but he seems even more impressive right now-and Bill finally seems to notice. He stumbles back and gives a nervous laugh.
”Easy, man. Didn't mean anything by it. Was just making conversation.”
That muscle in Ward's cheek is twitching. His entire body is rigid.
”You've made your f.u.c.king point,” he says. ”Don't you have a job to do?”
This escalated way too quickly. I rise and put a hand on Ward's arm. His jaw tightens, then releases. Slowly, he relaxes.
Bill still looks a little nervous, and I don't blame him. But as Ward lowers his arms, the tension leaves him as well. His gaze darts between Ward and me, then drops to the newspaper, which is still sitting on the table. His eyes shoot back to me, and then they widen.
Oh, no.
”You're her,” he says. ”I can't believe it. You're her.”
By now, most of the restaurant is looking at us. Great.
”We should go,” I say softly to Ward. My hand is still on his arm.
”Yeah,” he says. ”We should go.”
His hand falls to my waist and he starts to lead me toward the exit.
”Wait!” Bill calls after us. ”You're going to have to pay for that food.”
”Send us a f.u.c.king bill,” Ward shouts back over his shoulder.
”No. That's not how it works in here.” Bill runs after us, catching up just as we reach the door. He grabs my arm, yanking me back into the restaurant.