“That’s not funny,” I said, reprimanding him before glancing at the window behind me.
“He’s going to be alright too,” Patrick said, noting my stare, before chuckling. “Although William will now have a working knowledge of the phrase, ‘love hurts,’ don’t you think?”
My eyes narrowed into slits when I looked back at him. How was he able to make light of something so serious? Had William’s hand connected with my skin for another heartbeat or two, Patrick and I would be having a very different conversation.
“Sensitive, are we?” he said, raising his hands.
“You should be resting,” I said, changing the subject.
He snorted. “Sleep is for the weak. Besides, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re up to.”
I looked down, not able to look him in the eyes. “I’m leaving,” I mouthed, not making a sound.
“I’m not a lip-reader. You’re going to have to repeat that for me,” he said, taking a couple steps forward. “Perhaps turn it up a notch or two—”
“I’m leaving,” I interrupted, shifting my eyes to his.
“Where are you going?” he asked, not understanding.
I filled my lungs. “I’m leaving, Patrick. Away from here, for good.”
His eyebrows came together and he looked as if he hadn’t understood the words that had just come out of my mouth. A few more seconds went by, where I was both waiting and dreading for the realization of what I’d meant to click.
Another second ticked off and I saw it register on Patrick’s face. The curl of confusion in his eyebrows ironed out before they took a sharp slant downward and his eyes filled with ice. I repressed a shudder.
“You are not leaving,” he seethed through his teeth. “Not after everything he’s been through. Not if it’s up to me.”
“It’s not up to you,” I said, feeling lower than pond scum from the look he was giving me.
“Then why?’ he asked, his voice elevating. “Why now?”
“Because now is better than later, Patrick.” I knew each day I stayed with William, I risked his life. As it was, I’d waited too long to do this.
“You’re a coward,” he whispered, although the words entered me as if screamed. “I know why you’re doing this and you’re a coward for taking the easy way out.”
“There is no easy way out,” I argued. “Don’t you get it?”
“You’re a coward,” he repeated, annunciating every syllable. “Don’t you do this to him, Bryn. Don’t you hurt him,” he begged, sounding like the little brother he was, concerned first and foremost for the older brother he idolized.
“If I don’t go, I’ll only hurt him again. Could do so much worse than hurt him . . .”
“You listen to me—listen to me right now.” He lunged forward and grasped my arms. “I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen and listen good.” His fingers squeezed into my flesh with such strength I felt pain. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “You can survive alone or you can live together. I know which option William would chose—has chosen,” he said, shaking me as if he wished he could shake some sense into me. “You have to make your choice.”
“I already have,” I whispered, turning away, hoping he’d leave me alone with the repercussions of my impossible decision.
“Coward,” he repeated, crossing his arms.
“Good-bye, Patrick,” I said over my shoulder, using three feeble words when I had at least a million I needed to say to him.
He cleared his throat and I heard a chord of popping—most likely the knuckles he had the habit of cracking whenever he was trying to diffuse stress. “Which way are you heading? I’ll give you a lift.”
I shook my head, Patrick’s offer dousing lemon on my gaping wound. “You don’t have to do that,” I said, not exactly looking forward to the journey on foot to my destination, but looking forward even less to being stuffed in a confined space with Patrick.
I needed a clean break—the sooner the better.
“I’m not doing it for you,” he said, the spite back in his tone, as he headed towards the garage. “I’m doing it for William.”
His back was to me, so he couldn’t have seen my confusion, but knowing me well enough, he explained, “Despite him waking up in a few days only to wish he hadn’t, he’ll still want to know you arrived safely to wherever the hell you have in mind.”
He disappeared into the garage and a moment later I heard an engine come to life—an engine I could have recognized in a chorus of a thousand others. Headlights came at me and despite Patrick’s likely wish given my actions, William’s vintage Bronco skidded to a stop an inch from me.
“Get in,” Patrick instructed, sticking his head out the window and raising his eyebrows in a way that let me know it wasn’t open for discussion.
“Can’t we take your car?” I asked, referring to the seven figure speedster I’d re-gifted to him as a thank you for saving me from John Townsend. He loved the Maserati and took every opportunity to drive it, even to the mailbox less than a mile down the road. Why couldn’t he drive it now? Although I’m sure it had something to do with torturing me.
“Don’t have the keys on me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.