Saving Kylie

He strode into the room, fully dressed. He went straight to the table by the back door and snatched his keys, then cast her a distracted glance as if he’d forgotten she was still there. “I need to go out for a while.”

“But dinner’s almost ready.” She heard the whine in her voice, and she hated it.

Look at them. So not a couple and already she was falling into the traditional harpy role. Lovely.

“You eat it. I have to take care of something, and it won’t wait.” He ran his scarf through his hands, his brows drawing more together the longer he stared at her. “Kylie, I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay.”

“Huh?”

“It’s your option, of course. I know your…housing situation is problematic, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. But I don’t expect it after—” He broke off and jingled his keys. “Look, I gotta go.”

She stood unsteadily and walked over to the oven to turn off the pizza. It hadn’t dinged yet, but she sure wasn’t going to stay there alone while he charged off to do who knows what. “Wherever you need to go, I’m coming with you.”

“It’s not for you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s tough turnips because I’m coming.” She whipped off the apron and tossed it on the counter they’d so fully desecrated. “Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed.”

“Kylie—”

“I’m coming, Justin. Deal.” She walked out of the kitchen before he could argue anymore.

Fifteen minutes later, she was in the passenger seat of his Jeep and staring out at the endless white landscape whizzing past her window. She had no idea where they were headed, and she wasn’t about to ask him. He was spookily silent, his gloveless hands wrapped around the wheel, his jaw like granite. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. He’d gone somewhere in his head, and she wasn’t invited.

She turned on the radio, just to fill the cabin with something other than the words neither of them were saying. A cheerful Christmas classic rolled out of the speakers, somehow highlighting how fucked-up everything had become.

Their perfect afternoon had shattered two days in a row. Either they had extremely sucky luck or maybe she was just fooling herself that anything could ever be perfect between them for very long.

Maybe they were both too screwed up or their timing was off. Either way, they couldn’t keep jumping back ten paces for every two they took forward.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said, his voice in a monotone.

She shifted on the seat, trying to find a position that didn’t sting quite as much. She’d been worked over more vigorously in the past, but he’d definitely made her a little sore. Pleasantly so. “No. You didn’t have to take me in either, but you did. You didn’t have to take care of me and make me laugh and make me co—”

“Don’t.” His hands flexed around the wheel as he hissed out a breath. “What I did doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Says who?”

“Your tears said it pretty clearly.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

She rubbed her forehead. All of a sudden a nasty headache was brewing at her temples. “So you know why I was crying then?” she asked tiredly.

“I think it was pretty obvious, Kylie.”

“Apparently not, since you haven’t said one right thing in the past hour.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me.” He jabbed the button to change radio stations. “Let’s just not do this now, okay?”

“So now I’m a this. We’re a this.” She pressed her cheek against the cool window and found it didn’t do a thing to settle her temper. “Good to know.”

“Do you know where we’re going right now?” he asked, his voice brutally quiet as he made a hard right onto yet another isolated country road.

She didn’t know where they were for sure. All she could see for miles was dark and snow and more dark.

“How would I? You haven’t seen fit to tell me.”

“Every holiday I call my mom. I don’t know why, since she usually doesn’t seem like she wants to talk to me. She’s either busy or about to take a nap or a million other excuses that don’t change that I’m way down her list of who she wants to hear from on holidays or any other time.”

She waited, twisting her hands in her lap.