"I almost fucking lost you." I clutch his face. "And I was helpless."
"You weren't helpless, Stevie. You fired back ten seconds later."
"If that asshole hadn't missed, those ten seconds would have been too late."
"He did miss. And it wasn't too late."
"We should have been more careful." I slide off his lap and back into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel as I start to shut down. Maybe Benny was right. Maybe happiness is a farce because it's something you can't hold onto. It slips through your fingers like sand, providing just an illusion and a tease of what you can't permanently have.
"Stevie," Baz whispers my name. I can hear the concern, but I tune it out.
"We have to figure out our next move. We can't stay in the truck forever. You need a doctor, and we only have a limited amount of cash, and they'll keep-"
"Hey." Baz grabs my wrist, but I can't look at him. I don't want to burst into tears. I'm suffering from a bout of PTSD for sure. "We can go to Gianni's."
I tear my attention away from the front window with that suggestion. Walking into Gianni Velona's house may be more fatal for me than a gunshot. "We need a safe place." He slides his hand over my tiny bump. "And I'm not the only one who needs a doctor."
Holy crap. Can this situation get any worse? I picked off a dozen of Gianni's best men like they were tin cans on a county fence. Cultivated the name Ghostface Killer because they never knew when or where I was going to strike until it was too late. I created fear and chaos within the family without ever giving myself away. That's not easily done, or tolerated. If Gianni finds out who I am, it's lights out. He won't hesitate to kill me. No matter if I'm Baz's fiancée or pregnant with his child. Gianni Velona is a ruthless monster, just like Benny and Regina, even if "mobster" isn't the title he goes by. Bottom line, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a corrupt motherfucking duck.
I hate lying to Baz, but thank God I didn't cave and tell him who I really am.
"Stevie?" Baz beckons me out of my spiraling thoughts. "Are we going to sit here all night, baby, or are we going to drive?"
I take a deep breath and put the truck in D. "We're gonna drive."
I DON'T KNOW whether to drive fast or slow.
It's been a few hours since Baz and I have talked, and I think the silence is getting to him. He's fidgeting in his seat and has changed the radio station seventeen times. Conversation is a challenge for me presently, mainly because I don't want to pop off due to my bubbling emotions or say something I'll regret. Silence is safe, but it's driving Baz bat-shit crazy.
He finally settles on a hard rock station, and I say a silent thank you. All the static was starting to irritate me.
I don't recognize the song, but Baz seems to know it. He hums the dark, heavy melody as he stares out the window. "My Name is Human" by Highly Suspect scrolls across the touchscreen on the dash.
When Weezer's "Buddy Holly" pumps through the speakers, Baz immediately livens up.
"Nice." He makes it louder and begins to play the drums on his thighs. I didn't take Baz for a Weezer fan, but he loves music, so why not?
When the second verse begins to play, Baz sings along, looking right at me as he belts out the lyrics. I try not to entertain him as I'm still blistering with emotions, but his enthusiasm, his energy, and his animated faces make me involuntarily smile.
Goofball.
Baz bops in the leather seat, shaking his head as he sings passionately, some hair escaping from the elastic tying it back, but he pays it no mind as it falls into his eyes. He even attempts the air guitar with his injured shoulder but can't quite exaggerate the movement. He gives it all he's got, though.
The best part is when he leans over and croons in my ear that I'm his and he's mine, as the song goes.
It reminds me of the day we went to the spring. He sang to me that morning, too. He has a great voice. He has a great everything, if I'm being honest.
I turn the music down once the song ends. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Oh, are you speaking to me now?"
"I was never not speaking to you." I was avoiding confrontation.
Baz's features contort. "Bullshit."
I don't want to get into this. The last thing I want to do is fight. Silence is my defense.
"I didn't take you for a Weezer fan." I spin the conversation like a top.
"They remind me of my mother."
"How so?"
"When I was younger, I was so hard to handle. The ADHD made me overly energetic. It drove Benny nuts, so to keep me occupied and out of his hair, my mom would put on music, and we would have dance parties in my room. For hours. She always joked I kept her in great shape."