The Dreaded Text: The Public Breakdown

You turn away instantly, melting back into the crowd before Dre can reach you.

You hear him call your name, but you keep walking, hot tears blurring the faces of strangers.

You're running on pure, crushing despair, convinced you just saw the end of your future...before it could even start.

You’re nearly to your car in the parking garage when a hand clamps down on your arm, spinning you around.

It’s Dre. He’s breathing hard, his face strained, his tie slightly askew.

He must have run the whole way.

"What the hell, Lana?! Why did you run? What’s going on?"

You try to pull away, hysterical.

"Don't! Don't touch me! I know! She's beautiful, Dre. You're dating her right? Don't make me stand there and congratulate you!"

Dre stops, his eyes widening.

He stares at you, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.

"Dating? That's what this is about? Lana, that's Melanie. She's the HR Director in New York. We flew in together. Why would you think I was dating her, and what wedding?"

He traps you against the car, the cool metal a stark contrast to his sudden, overwhelming heat.

"Tell me the truth, Lana. Tell me why you're ready to break down over me."

You can't lie anymore.

The dam breaks.

"Because I'm in love with you, you idiot! I came here to tell you that I'm in love with you! And seeing her touch you... I realized I was too late, and you were just going to leave me alone, three thousand miles away!"

The fury drains from Dre’s face, replaced by a devastating mix of relief and intense, possessive desire.

He closes his eyes for a long moment, then opens them, the control gone.

"You are such a fool, Lan," he murmurs, his voice rough.

He looks around the empty garage, then unlocks your car door with a swift click.

"Get in. Now. We are not having this conversation here."

He pushes you into the passenger seat, his touch firm but gentle, and walks around to the driver's side. You sit there, trembling, watching him start the engine.

"Where are we going?" you whisper.

Dre doesn't look at you.

He pulls out of the parking space, tires squealing slightly in his haste. "Home. We’re going home, Lana. So I can finally show you exactly why I took that transfer—and why you are never, ever going to run away from me again."

The silence in the car is heavy, electric.

This is not the safe, comfortable best friend you knew.

This is a possessive stranger, fueled by months of denial and your raw, messy confession.

You are speeding toward your apartment, but the person who arrives will not be the same.

What do you do?



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