Page 385 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I angle my body to face him so fast the seatbelt saws into my neck. “Actually, yes. Now, aight?” I mock, the pettiness tasting like acid on my tongue.

His eyes stay on the street.

Mine stay on him. “You don’t get to say ‘fuck you’ to me, then show up at the penthouse like nothin’ happened, then take me down roads not suggested by Siri like some cryptic serial killer with a crush on your rearview, so I wanna know why you’re bein’ shady with two cell phones or why you’re acting weird as fuck right now. Pick one.”

He stonewalls me again.

My word-dump hangs there

as his eyes chase the rearview.

And I lose my patience,

unbuckle my seatbelt,

and turn in the seat,

seeing a silver sedan riding our bumper,

its headlights cutting through morning mist, flooding his rear window. The driver’s wearing a dark neck gaiter up over their nose, a beanie down past their brows.

“Andrew… who the fuck is that?” My eyes swing from the faceless driver to Andrew’s profile. “How long’ve they been following us?”

His palm slips over the top of his steering wheel, betraying his panic. “Since the Turnpike.”

“Do you know who it is?”

The silence spreads, turning brittle.

He’s not answering fast enough, and it only makes my heartbeat thud harder inside my eardrums, drowning out the engine. “Andrew? Tell me right now.”

Andrew accelerates to put more distance between their car and ours.

But the silver sedan only surges closer,

chomping at every inch.

“He’s fuckin’ tryin’ me,” Andrew mutters, white-knuckling the wheel. Then the front of their car clips our bumper.

Enough to jolt me backward,

my spine heading for the dashboard.

Andrew’s arm shoots out like a steel bar, his palm catching me in the center of my back, and he shoves me safely into the seat.

“Turn around,” he snaps.

I’m turning fast in my seat,

sliding my belt back on,

fear filling inside me.

“Andrew. I’m scared.”

I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and his eyes shoot to me for a split second, a dark, blinding rage boiling inside them as his nostrils flare.

“I know,” he says, voice low. “I got you.” He reaches over and tugs on my belt, making sure it’s tight. “He’s just a stupid motherfucker. Nothin’s gonna happen to you.”