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The second I hear her on the stairs, I drop the smile.

“I don’t know why I have to go.” She pouts as she stomps up the stairs.

“Rules. A new kid born into the club means we all show our support.”

“I’m not even in the damn club,” she grumbles as she moves past me and goes to the garage.

I take a second, just one. Long enough to pull back the retort on my lips, swallow it down. Fighting is what she wants, or what she thinks she wants. It’s what her brain is telling her she should do. That me keeping her is because I’ve enslaved her in some way.

I don’t deny it.

I’m holding her here for a reason. Just not one she expects.

So I let her talk all she wants. Let her gripe and complain. Whatever she needs, if it makes her feel like she’s in control.

But if she took two seconds and saw she really isn’t in a prison like she screams about, her life might just be a little easier.

However, I learned Natalie doesn’t do easy. She prefers to work through things the hard way. Maybe it’s her way to confirm it’s really hers. Not sure. Still trying to figure her out.

I can only gain so much knowledge from watching her. Granted, I know a lot. But it’s her mind that eludes me.

“Bye, Rex. See you, Fido,” I call out before going to the garage and seeing Natalie already in the passenger seat of the truck. We had a heavy snowfall over the weekend, and most places are still iced over. No way am I taking the bike out when I could have a heater on my feet and hands. Hell, even the seat is heated. I’m old enough to appreciate the decency of a good heated seat.

I get in, open the garage with my clicker, and put my seat belt on. When I pull out of the garage, I look at her out of the corner of my eye.

“You might not be in the club, but Ruby is your friend. Figured you’d want to be there when she pops out her first kid.”

She lets out a very unladylike snort. “You must have missed the whole ‘not talking to each other for half of last year’ part. Ruby and I aren’t friends. We were roommates for a time, but that was it. And that time has passed.”

I navigate through Sunday traffic, surprised to see so many on the road on a winter weekend.

“If you say it like that, guess we’re not friends either, huh?”

“Duh.” I see her eyes roll as she looks out the window.

“Too bad.” I take a left turn into the hospital, parking the truck toward the front and making sure there’s no ice on her side when she gets out. “I always wanted to be your friend.”

I jump out quickly and wait for her to exit. She takes her time, not because she’s being pigheaded, but I can see from her open mouth and round eyes that I’ve stunned her.

I look away when I can’t hold back my smile a second more.

The slamming of her door has me coughing and looking back at her, face under control.

“We can’t be friends,” she declares with her hands on her hips.

When she starts to walk toward the building, I stop her again. “Why?”

Just one word.

Her eyes go wide for a second, and she sputters before she finally says, “Because.” She shakes her head as if the answer is obvious.

I just tilt my head, waiting for her to voice her issues. Well, one of them. I know she has several. From the small truths she’s given me in our seven months of living together, she has a right to her hang-ups. Just not the one that involves me.

“You kidnapped me,” she shouts, waving her hands at the sky.

Fair. But the urge to point out that she needs to get over that part since it was month ago sits on my tongue. Sure, in her viewpoint, she’s still being “held against her will,” but that’s only because she won’t see anything else.

And if I were worried that anyone would believe she’s actually been kidnapped, I would tell her to keep her voice low. But I know no one will see her that way. I’ve done nothing to show it.