Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,126
a little ominously, but I pretend not to hear it. Getting worked up might snap Chrissy out of the zen-like calm she’s adopted — which, I have a feeling, would be very, very bad for my health. And my ears.
Once they’re both shut in the back, I turn to Shelby.
“See you there?”
“Yep. Take Storrow Drive, it’ll be fastest, this time of day.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Gem.” She grins as she heads for her car — which she somehow managed to park in a perfect spot, in front of a neighboring brownstone. “The hospital’s ten minutes away. What can possibly go wrong in ten minutes?”
A feeling of dread creeps over me as soon as she says those words. I want to scream Shelby, you idiot! How could you tempt the universe like that?
But, since I’m not five anymore, I keep my superstitions to myself, ignore the bad feeling stirring in my gut, and watch her drive off.
She’s right, I tell myself, sliding into the driver’s seat. It’ll all be fine.
Forcing a grin, I glance back at Chrissy and Winston.
“How you doing, back there?”
“We’re fine, Gemma. Just drive.”
See?
Everything’s fine.
I’m reaching for the shifter when the passenger door of my car is roughly yanked open. A man jumps into the seat — a pudgy, disheveled-looking man, with dirty clothes and a dark scowl. A man whose face I might recognize, if not for the fact that my attention is fully consumed by his hands.
Or, more specifically, what’s in his hands.
Because he’s holding a gun, and it’s pointed at me.
“Drive, bitch,” Ralph sneers, shaking it in my direction. “Right fucking now.”
Okay.
This right here?
So totally not fine.
***
“Where did you get a gun?”
My mind is racing as I look from Ralph to Chrissy to Winston, considering our options. I contemplate bolting from the car, but Chrissy’s in labor — she can’t run, let alone get Winnie out by herself. Hell, I’m not even sure how fast she can walk, at this point. And then there’s the small matter of the gun in my face.
“I said drive.” He jostles the gun at me again.
“Or what?” I ask, my eyes wide. “You’ll shoot me?”
His scowl deepens. “Gemma, I’m not fucking around.”
“Okay, I know you’re intent on your revenge, and I ruined your life, and you hate me. Yada, yada, yada. Whatever. It’s going to have to wait, because we’re literally on our way to the hospital right now. This is a real emergency, Ralph, and you’re kind of messing things up for us.”
“This is Ralph?” Chrissy shrieks. “No wonder you never wanted to introduce him.”
Ralph turns incredulous eyes to the backseat. “What did you say to me, bitch?”
Chrissy doesn’t bat an eye at the gun suddenly pointing in her direction. She looks at me, cool as a cucumber, and says, “You never told me he doesn’t shower.”
I wrinkle my nose, taking in the unwashed stench coming off Ralph. He looks dirty and his clothes are rumpled, like he’s been living on the streets for the past few days. “Actually, this is a new development. He had standard man-child hygiene habits, while we were dating.”
“Ah, yes. The pants-never-need-to-be-washed, shaving-is-a-weekly-activity, manscaping-is-a-myth type.” She nods sagely. “I know them well.”
“Exactly.”
“SHUT UP!” Ralph yells, causing both our heads to snap in his direction. His eyes narrow on me. “Drive the fucking car, Gemma, or I swear to god…”
“Ralph, come on. We both know you’re not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know anything, bitch.”
“Can we watch the language?” Chrissy asks. “I’ve got a one-year-old back here. Very impressionable age. I don’t want his first word to be cocksucker.”
Ralph’s eyes darken, and his arm swivels sharply, so the gun is pointing straight at Winnie.
“Ralph…” I whisper.
“Shut up!”
The gun shakes.
Winnie’s eyes are wide, watching the mouth of the gun like it’s a spinning toy on his mobile.
Chrissy and I both go dead silent.
“You don’t think I’ll hurt you, but what about him, huh? Still sure I won’t hurt anyone? No?” Ralph’s voice is low with anger. “Then drive the fucking car, before I decide to stop being so nice.”
I meet Chrissy’s eyes and, for the first time, I see a flash of fear in their depths. So, I grab the shifter, pull out into traffic, and I drive the fucking car.
***
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice quiet.
Ralph doesn’t say anything. His knees are jumping up and down to a beat only he can hear. With each nervous jitter, the gun in his hand bounces a little more.
“Ralph. Please.” I try again. “Where are we going?”