Second Dive (Kings of the Water #3) - Jasmin Miller Page 0,27

that suggestion.

He huffs. "Don't worry about my car."

"What? Why?" I swear there was more I wanted to say but he's started rubbing his thumbs across my wrists, and it's distracting as hell.

The motion is barely noticeable, but my body is on high alert.

What is happening? I feel like I've entered the Twilight Zone.

My eyes aren't sure where to look, flicking back and forth between his face and the spots where his big hands encircle my much smaller wrists.

Then his movement stops. When I notice that his gaze is fixated on my left wrist, I realize my mistake. Major mistake.

I try to pull my hands out of his, but he only tightens his grip.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Chloe, what is this?” His voice has dropped an octave, a dangerous edge to it.

I ignore it. I ignore him. Continuing to pull.

“Stop trying to get away and answer my question.”

Sweat starts to form at the back of my neck, but I stop moving. I push away the sensation of not being able to get enough oxygen into my lungs and inhale deeply. Only then do I meet his gaze and immediately wish I hadn’t. The intensity of it heats up my body even more as adrenaline floods my system like it has an expiration date and needs to be used up right this second.

Despite everything, I lift my chin and ignore his flaring nostrils and dull eyes that don’t blink. With one more hard yank, I finally get out of his grasp and get some distance between us, almost slipping on the messy floor.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I refuse to look away first. “It’s nothing.”

The words didn’t come out as strong as I wanted them to.

“What . . . the . . . fuck . . . is that on your wrist?” Noah’s words are quiet, but so piercing, they reverberate through every particle of my soul.

He takes a step toward me, and I take one back, which puts me flush against the kitchen counter. If he comes even closer, there’s nowhere for me to go. Unless I try to get around him to make a run for it. And let’s face it, the chances of making it past him are slim to none, especially on the slippery floor.

Thankfully, he stops.

Looking up at the ceiling, he clasps his hands behind the back of his neck and takes several deep breaths. “Was it you? Did you do it?”

The backs of my eyes burn.

Why did I invite him inside my house? Stupid. I shouldn’t be so close to him. Even less so when we’re alone.

I wanted to apologize to him, and I did that last week at the restaurant. That should have been the end for us. For good this time.

The fact that we work together on the volunteer project was unexpected, but we’re adults, so what the heck. We can manage to co-exist and work together for a few weeks, right?

But this . . . it’s a lot.

It’s too much when all I want to do is curl into a ball and have him hold me.

To have him soothe my many wounds, especially the ones invisible to the naked eye. I have plenty of those too, but they don’t hurt nearly as much as the ones I hide on the inside.

His hands fall back to his sides, his posture sagging like he’s about to fall in on himself.

Why does that make me want to comfort him?

This is all so screwed up.

And so confusing.

His Adam’s apple bobs several times before he clears his throat. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He bares his teeth at me, and his clenched fists are almost vibrating next to his body. “The fuck it does.”

“Noah, please.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to crush his teeth.

When he opens his eyes again, they are softer. Only marginally, but it’s better than nothing. “You can’t expect me to just walk out of here and ignore the fact that you have a scar on your wrist from cutting yourself. It doesn’t matter if you cover it up with a tattoo, it’s still right fucking there.”

“I know.”

My thoughts are all over the place, and it’s hard to focus on any one of them. The past mixes with the present. The present mixes with the past. It’s too much.

A moment later, my ears start ringing, and I’m a little lightheaded. I lean more of my weight against the kitchen counter and put my hands on it for extra support. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about