Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Hurrying away from Rosie’s, that momentary feeling of freedom, of saying out loud that I was done with Michael Sullivan, fled completely. I didn’t feel free. Fury and hurt and resentment and hatred and love and longing and more resentment filled me until I was fit to bursting. I wanted to smack something.

I wanted to scream and scream until the feelings inside me exploded into dust.

Bracing myself against the bitter wind as I marched down Broadway, I remembered I’d told my dad I’d call a cab, but right then, I needed to walk it off.

Except I was walking in the wrong direction.

“Shit,” I muttered, drawing to a halt and turning.

That’s when I saw the black Honda Accord pull up beside me and Michael jumped out of the driver’s side.

Anticipation and indignation were strange emotional bedfellows, but that’s what I felt right then.

“Get in the car,” he said, marching toward me.

My jaw dropped at his demand. “Are you crazy?”

“Get in the car, Dahlia.” He glowered, bracing his hands on his hips. “We need to talk.”

“I’m done talking with you. I don’t particularly like what you have to say.”

Michael practically bared his teeth. “Get in the fuckin’ car.”

I pushed my face into his, refusing to be intimidated. “Go fuck yourself.”

“There she is,” he bit out somewhat mysteriously, and then grabbed my upper arm. “Get in the car.”

“Get your hands off me,” I hissed, trying to pull out of his grip.

Instead, he hauled me up against him so I had no choice but to brace my hands against his chest or be crushed. The aforementioned very powerful chest heaved beneath my touch. “Don’t make me pull out my badge or my blue light because I will.”

My eyes f

lared. “That’s an abuse of power.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been abusing your power over me for fuckin’ years, so get in the car.” He led me around to the passenger side, and I was so stunned by his words, I was in the car before I knew what was happening.

“What?” I huffed to myself as he got in. The car smelled of leather polish and Michael’s cologne. The doors locked as he pulled on his seat belt, and the anticipation I’d felt earlier made my heart rocket into hyper speed. “This is kidnapping!”

He pulled into traffic, apparently ignoring me now.

“Michael!”

“You wanted to talk.” He cut me a hard look. “We’re going to talk.”

“Too late.”

“You run off again without having this conversation, I’m not going to think much of you anymore.”

Disbelief boiled in my blood. “I thought you hated me anyway! I tried to talk! You turned it into a verbal gutting!”

“Lower your voice.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I seethed beside him. As soon as we got to Dad’s, I was going to let it rip. He thought he was the only victim here?

“For someone apparently so indifferent to me, you got a lot of anger in you.”

I narrowed my eyes and stopped myself from opening my mouth to snap back at him. However, that would only support his point.