All characters are at least 18 years old.
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I had stopped screaming and gotten myself under control by the time Drew ran over, "under control" being a relative term. After all, I was the one who taught him to stay calm during crisis management; I was no stranger to keeping a level head. Yet for some reason I was especially rattled tonight, so it was fortunate that Drew took charge. He cast one look at the roadkill on my bed and grabbed my hand, leading me away as he whipped his phone out. Sitting me down on the couch and gently turning my chin to face him so I wasn't looking toward my bedroom, he dialed a number. The person on the other end answered on the first ring.
"Hey, it's me," he said grimly, peeking out the windows into the street. "Yeah, we were right. Can you send somebody? What are you talking about? He's mine. You don't understand, he was
in our house!
Lexi, I swear to God, don't deny me this."
He was calling Lexi? What on earth for? Who was she to him that she was the first person he called, rather than the cops? I couldn't seem to process an answer, or even work through any logic. I was in shock, it seemed. Drew, still on the phone, turned to look at me. His expression went through an evolution of fury, to frustration, and then to worry. Finally he clenched his jaw and sighed, appearing dispirited as if he'd just lost something important.
"Fine. Hurry." With that, he hung up and sat next to me, watching the environs outside like a hawk. It was snowing harder now, making visibility all the more difficult. The snowstorm was moving in.
"It's your dad," I uttered. I hadn't made many enemies. The possible perpetrators made a very short list.
"He's not my dad," Drew growled in response. He closed his eyes and turned to me, not meeting my gaze. "Sorry. I'm not mad at you, it shouldn't have come out that way. I just wanna get you out of here, and I'd rather not talk about him right now."
"We're not calling the police?"
He looked out the window again, narrowing his eyes as if searching for something. Trying to see if he could spy Andras for his long-awaited revenge. "No."
With his ominous answer we fell silent. In a matter of minutes, a luxury sedan pulled up in front of our house, and Drew took my hand again and led me outside through the building snow. A well-groomed gentleman stepped out of the driver's seat and held the backseat door to the car open for us.
"Good evening
madame, monsieur,
" he said politely, allowing us to board before gently closing the door and climbing into the driver's seat himself. He was probably in his late forties with a neatly trimmed mustache and hairstyle, and spoke with a French accent. "My name is Alain. I will be your chauffeur for the evening."
Without waiting to be told where to go, he began driving, heading downtown. I glanced back at our house as it shrank into the distance. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not a trace of any psychotic ex-boyfriends.
"Drew?" He looked over curiously. "Why did you call Lexi?"
"What do you mean?"
I stared at my hands in my lap, feeling silly. Was I getting insecure again? Yes... Yes, I think I was. "We didn't even report the break-in to the authorities. You must trust her a great deal to call her at a time like this..."
"Mom, it's not like that. She's Brie's best friend, and she's loaded, so she can help with stuff like sending a car. And she'll be the one calling it in, saves us the hassle of all those questions."
"That doesn't explain all the other stuff you said to her," I said quietly, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Drew, baby, I'll understand if... I mean, she's younger. Your age. And that night, when you... when that happened, you went straight to her house. Lexi Rochester." The name felt bitter passing over my tongue. I was beginning to feel a bit ill again, when suddenly Drew seized both my hands. He gazed deeply into my eyes, like in those stale romantic films. I must say, it felt completely different in first person.
"Mom, I'll make this transparently clear. I don't have any romantic or sexual feelings for Lexi Rochester. I have never had any romantic or sexual feelings for any woman. Only you." I swear, I blushed so hard and fast I began feeling lightheaded. I glanced at the driver in the rearview mirror, but he didn't react in the slightest. "Do you want me to prove it to you?" The question made my vision snap back to him, in time to see him lean over.
I felt a fleeting panic as Drew and I began making out in the backseat. His lips conveyed everything he wanted to say to me without another word. I could only hope mine were doing the same. I loved him. I was
in love
with him. The snow seemed to envelop us in our own world, like our own little patch of heaven. And I never wanted to leave.
Of course, Drew had other ideas. We broke apart when the car stopped, and I peered out my window to find valets of the nicest hotel in town. "
Madame, monsieur,
we 'ave arrived," the chauffeur announced. He held up a key card, a number written neatly on its paper sleeve. "Your accommodations,
monsieur.
Enjoy your evening."
"Thanks, Alain," Drew said, taking the key card and leading me off the car and into the hotel lobby. We walked right past concierge and into the elevators, where I had to visibly resist reenacting those elevator make out scenes in the movies. Drew led the way into a luxury suite, and I marveled at the decor. There was a king-sized bed, a jacuzzi, and a beautiful view of the city.
"I thought we were hiding," I chuckled softly. "Looks like we're celebrating instead."
Drew checked his watch. "It just ticked over to Christmas Eve. Maybe we should celebrate."
I was stood by the window, looking out at the snowfall. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, planting a kiss on my temple. I held onto his forearms, savoring the warmth of his body against mine.
