Page 100 of Seven Minutes
I did. God help me, I really did. But love wasn’t the same as handling, and my pulse was already ticking too fast.
We moved down another row—well,hemoved; I followed in shorter, tighter steps—until he paused to open the door of another SUV, gesturing me inside. The interior smelled of new leather and chemical hope. I hesitated.
Adrian frowned, softening. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, climbing into the seat. The moment my body sank into the cushion, something in me locked up. The angle of the windshield. The way the seatbelt brushed my side. The dashboard’s unblemished shine.
My fingers dug into my thighs, and I broke out in a sweat.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Don’t make a scene on the car lot.
Adrian leaned against the frame of the door, watching me with a quiet focus that made me want to hide and lean into him at the same time.
“Too big?” he asked.
“Too… something,” I managed. “Feels like I’m about to roll into a military convoy.”
His mouth twitched. “Sexy.”
I groaned. “This is torture.”
“You think this is torture?” He gestured to the row of SUVs, a proud shepherd revealing his flock. “Eli, these are fortresses. Rolling fortresses. My goal is to keep you alive until you’re a thousand.”
“And I’m saying I don’t need atankto do that.”
He tapped the metal roof affectionately. “You do.”
Against my will, another laugh puffed out of me.
He caught it. Healwayscaught it.
And then—because life hates me—he insisted I drive one of the damn things around the lot. So I did. Hands white-knuckled on the wheel. Breath shallow.
Adrian talked the whole time—distracting me with commentary about torque and engine noise and the fact that I’d look ‘ridiculously hot’ in sunglasses behind the wheel of something this absurd.
I tried to stay with him. I really did. But the tension in my spine never let up. By the time we left with brochures and way too many crash test comparison charts, I was wrung out.
Adrian drove home, animatedly narrating features, saying things like: “I know you want a coupe, but a coupe won’t protect your organs.” or “Two doors? During an emergency extraction? Ridiculous.”
I should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve snapped at him or teased him or told him he was out of his mind. But instead, I sat there, hands in my lap, fingernails digging crescents into my palms as I tried to ignore the buzzing in my ears.
Adrian glanced over at me to say something, taking his eyes off the road for one half-second.
A horn blared.
He braked hard.
I lurched forward, and the world narrowed to a tunnel around me. My heart slammed against my chest, loud and frantic. I couldn’t pull in air fast enough. My whole body seized. I pressed back against the seat, trying to disappear into it. My head filled with every catastrophic scenario at once.
Adrian cursed under his breath. “Shit—sorry, I—are you okay?”
I nodded stiffly, but I wasn’t okay.
“Eli—hey—breathe,” Adrian said quickly, voice even but his hand trembling where it reached for me. “It’s alright. You’re fine. No one hit us.”
But the airbag was all I could see. The impact. The sound. Blinding white lights blocking out the world. Screeching tires and metal crunching. His voice screaming my name.
