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"What was his name?"

"Richard."

Deandre pauses for a moment. The deep swallowing of his throat is audible in the tight space. "What did he do to you, girlie?"

Fuck. We really shouldn't be having this conversation while I'm driving. I grip the wheel tighter, though, edging forward as the light changes to green.

"Nothing," I lie. "Everything. He—we dated. For a couple of years. I thought we had something, but we didn't. I was just arm candy for him." I lick my parched lips. "A way for him to get easy, on-tap sex. When I asked for a commitment, he laughed."

The echo of that laughter reverberates through my memory. God, how it hurt.

Deandre goes dangerously still. "There's a part of me that wants you to turn this car around right now."

I want to ask him why, but there's no need to. Slow-boiling rage is written all over his expression. He clenches and unclenches his fist, knuckles popping. Power ripples through him, and I swallow hard.

His willingness to commit violence to avenge my broken heart probably shouldn't make me feel warm and loved inside, but I can't help it. It does.

"That won't be necessary," I promise.

"I'll be the judge of that. What else did he do?"

"What? Nothing."

"Bullshit. That man did something."

I think it over, all the hundreds of little insults that stole my confidence. The power plays at school. The way he left me to the other teachers' judgment and scorn.

"It's hard to explain, just—he made me feel worthless. Helpless. Abandoned."

That last word is the key one. I've felt alone for so much of my life, but the aftermath of our breakup was a real low.

"So you thought we were going to leave you just as high and dry," Deandre grits out.

Shame floods me. I hate that I thought so poorly of them, but he's not wrong. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't you dare apologize. That man wounded you. Ain't your fault you were waiting for the next axe to fall. We should have been clearer."

"It's not your fault, either," I insist.

He hums, like his jury is still out on that one, but I know it's true.

This is no one's fault and everyone's. Arguing about it won't get us anywhere.

What really matters is making sure it never happens again.

We spend the short remainder of the ride back to my house in silence that's not quite comfortable but not particularly awkward, either. We both just have a lot to think about, is all.

I pull into the driveway of my house. The guys' van arrives seconds later. They park right behind me, blocking me in. Cayden, Jax, Sergio and Adam pile out. Tension radiates off of them, and it's a match for the nervous energy vibrating through me.

I glance around, unable to stop myself. I have gossipy neighbors. They're going to have a field day with all of this—first my sudden return and then my colorful group of visitors.

"You looking around for someone in particular?" Jax takes me by surprise with his question.

I start, then shake it off. "No."

He doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go. I lead them to the side entrance and then inside.

And wow, I knew this was a tiny house when I rented it. The place was just for me, though. I didn't need a lot of space.