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She’snother. She’s not mine.
“I don’t—I’m sorry…” She trails off, and steps closer. “I’m sorry what happened with your… I shouldn’t be here.” She draws back and I catch her hand. Her skin is soft and warm against mine, even as she flinches and tries to pull away.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she whispers.
“I thought you liked to be touched,” I say to create some distance between us.
She’s not her.
I don’t need her sorry, I don’t need her smiles or words. I need nothing.
She’s not mine.
“I don’t,” she snaps and rips her hand free. The kindness in her eyes is fading, anger taking its place.
Good. She should hate me.
I deserve it.
“I heard you liked it rough, sweetheart,” I whisper and take a strand of her raven-black hair between my fingertips.
“Why are you doing this? I thought—”
“You thought because I smiled at you, I liked you?” A laugh breaks free and I shake my head.
“You’re just like him, aren’t you?” she sneers and slaps my hand away.
“And what is he like?” I tilt my head as tears fill her eyes.
“He’s a monster. He hurts me.” Her voice cracks and with it the wall I used to push her away.
“He doesn’t,” I say sharply, as I don’t believe it. I can’t. Yes, I’ve seen how he was just now, but… he helped me, fixed me, put me back on the right track after I losther, after I failed to protecther. And now he’s helping Knox, he can’t be…
She chuckles. “Don’t believe me. Why should you?”
I was stupid, young, and hurt by my own loss. I pushed her away when she reached out for me, when she needed helpbecause I couldn’t help her, not when I was barely keeping myself from drowning.
Coach gave me purpose, gave me a way to cope with everything in a healthier way. So I thought. A healthier way shouldn’t have meant letting him do what he was doing to his own daughter.
“Jaxon?!” Dimitri calls out and I toss my phone aside to head into the living room.
“Yeah,” I answer and don’t dare to let my eyes drift to the laptop screen.
“Got a hold of Knox?” he asks as he rubs his neck.
I nod. “He didn’t find them; the house is abandoned. He’s trying to look for clues there.” I take a sharp breath and continue. “Perhaps you should call your dad, maybe he knows something.”
I wait for it: the sneer, the angry look, anything.
“You’re probably right.” He sighs and my brows pinch together.
“I’m right?” That never happens.
He groans and leans back on the couch. “I’m not sure he would help though.”
“You never know.”
“He didn’t helpherwhen she asked for help,” he whispers.