Part 7 (1/2)

”Ward,” I say softly.

My voice seems to snap him back to reality, and the car swerves slightly. Someone honks behind us.

”Ward, pull over. Please,” I say.

He doesn't look at me. I reach out and lay my fingers on his arm.

”Pull over. Just for a minute.”

He doesn't say anything, but he steers off at the next exit. There's an abandoned gas station just off the ramp, and he pulls into the lot and parks next to one of the old pumps. The attached convenience store is covered in graffiti and the pavement is marked with potholes and overgrown with weeds, but as unwelcoming as this place may look, we just need a place where we can just sit and calm down.

Ward turns off the car. The keys tremble in his hand as he pulls them out of the ignition.

”Ward,” I say again, as if somehow hearing his name will bring him back to himself.

His jaw tightens. He finally turns and looks at me, and his eyes are wild.

”He hit you,” he says, his voice cracking. ”He f.u.c.king hit you!”

”I got in the way,” I say. Not because I actually believe that excuses the matter, but because Ward needs to hear something calm and logical right now.

But my words have the opposite of their intended effect. He turns and throws open the car door. He's outside before I even have a chance to undo my seatbelt. And by the time I do, by the time my door's open and my feet hit the cracked pavement, he's already pounding his fists against the roof of the car.

”f.u.c.k this!” he says. ”f.u.c.k all of this!” He makes a sound like an animal as his fists come down again. The car shakes.

I've never seen him like this. Nowhere even close.

”Ward,” I say, my voice breaking on the word.

I have no idea how he hears me over the pounding of his fists against the car, but he freezes. For a moment, he doesn't even flinch. His head is still bowed, and the only movement is the rise and fall of his chest.

And then he lifts his head. The expression in his eyes is so raw that it nearly destroys me. He straightens and moves toward me, walking slowly around the car. His eyes-so full of anger and pain-never leave mine. When he's in front of me, he doesn't touch me, even though he's close enough for me to feel the heat coming off of his skin.

”This is all my fault.” he says. ”I should've controlled my temper.”

He reaches up, and for a brief instant I think he's going to touch my throbbing cheek, but at the last second he pulls his fingers away.

”You didn't hit me,” I remind him.

”I might as well have.”

I shake my head. But he goes on.

”I hit him first. I shouldn't have. I should have just walked away. But he grabbed your arm and...” He rubs his face. ”It's no excuse. Any of it. If I'd just walked away, you wouldn't have gotten hurt.”

This time when he reaches toward my face, he doesn't pull back. His finger brushes against the sensitive skin on my cheek, and I bite down on my tongue to keep from sucking in a breath. I don't want him to think he's hurting me. I close my eyes. Take comfort from his delicate a.s.sessment. But suddenly he draws his hand away again.

I open my eyes.

”You were just trying to protect me,” I tell him. ”You can't blame yourself for that.”

”I wasn't thinking. You were standing right there.”

”It's just a bruise. It'll heal.”

”It's not just a bruise.” He jerks away from me and shoves his hand through his hair. ”You were punched in the f.u.c.king face!”

”You've been punched in the face dozens of times,” I point out. ”And you seem fine to me.”

”That's different.”

”Because I'm a girl?”

”Exactly!”

I'm about to argue, but Ward steps right in front of me again. He takes me gently by the chin, but his eyes are still dark with emotion.

”Can't you see?” he says, his voice suddenly soft. ”All I want to do is keep you safe. And if I can't do that...”

I lay my hand over his. ”I'm safe.”

”You're not. Half of your face is going to be purple by morning.”

”And by next week, it'll be the normal color again.”

He closes his eyes. ”I started a fight in an enclosed s.p.a.ce. With you right next to me. If it wasn't a fist that hit you, it might have been a table, or a piece of silverware, or G.o.d knows what else. I wasn't f.u.c.king thinking. I just wanted to hurt that guy for those things he said about you. I was the one who lost my head.”

It's hard to hear him say those things. Maybe he could have been more careful. Maybe he should have controlled his temper. Maybe, if I'm being honest, he does deserve some of the blame for this. But we can't bury ourselves beneath ”maybes” and ”what ifs.” Maybe I shouldn't have jumped in the middle of the fight. Maybe I shouldn't have grabbed that stupid newspaper that started all of this in the first place. I saw Ward's eyes when I threw myself between him and Bill. He would never, ever intentionally hurt me. And if I thought he was capable of such a thing, if I feared even for a moment that he'd ever lay a hand on me, I wouldn't be here right now.

”Have you ever hit a woman?” I ask him.

His eyes snap to mine. ”Never.”

”Would you ever hit me?”

There's the pain again. ”Never.”

I nod. ”Then that's all either of us needs to know.”

He continues to stare at me, his eyes sharp with feeling. There's a lump in my throat, but I swallow it down.

I touch his cheek, feel the roughness of his stubble beneath the palm of my hand. His skin is hot-almost as hot as mine.

”You'd never intentionally hurt me,” I whisper. ”I know that deep in my heart.” If anything, he's sacrificed too much for me already.

His hand closes over mine and his eyes fall closed again. He takes a deep breath, his fingers clenching mine.

The emotion swells up in me so quickly that I almost say it again. I almost tell him I love him. I love him so much that it hurts to keep it down, but keep it down I do. I haven't forgotten what I told him over our iced tea in the restaurant-that there's still a chance for him, that he can still walk away from this escapade of ours and go piece his old life back together.