Page 35

Creek is acting funny and I'm trying really hard not to let dread overwhelm me. I mean he's here right? We’ve just sat through a movie with Anya, and now we are having dinner at some fancy restaurant that had my sheltered sister casting me an impressed look.

Problem is he's barley here. He speaks when spoken to, smiles when necessary. It all feels so forced and unreal. I know I'm not the only one who notices it because Anya keeps shooting me wary glances like she can't possibly fathom how this is the man I go home gushing about over cheap TV dinners.

Best I can do is offer her a smile, I'm certain is watery and not the least bit reassuring. Her lips purse, demeanor shifting. I shake my head in a subtle ‘not now’ before she causes a scene.

Our family was built by Blithe himself. The four of us together were unstoppable. We have each other’s backs like nothing ever seen, but I don't need Anya coming to my rescue where Creek is concerned.

There's three of you now.

The thought send a trickle of doom through my conscious, but I push it away and focus on the now.

When the kind waitress offers dessert Creek politely declines. “No thanks, I actually need to get going, if we could just get the check please.”

His eyes flick to me for just a moment before he's looking elsewhere again. He's hardly looked at or touched me all night and I feel the need to hide away and let a dam of tears escape my itchy eyes.

What did I do?

The question plagues me as we wait for the check.

When he's finished paying and we step outside, I reach for his hand, but he pulls away. The sudden anger I feel at that wars with my previous sadness. What the fuck is happening?

“I have an early morning tomorrow, so I'll need to get going. It was wonderful to officially meet you Anya.”

He smiles at her, and it almost looks real, until I see the underlying searching he does when he doesn't trust someone. I frown.

He turns and starts to walk off right after, and I jog to catch up. “Hey, wait!”

I'm trying so hard not to cry right now, why is he being this way? It hurts. He's hurting me. And like everything else in my life, I'm a fucking slave to it.

The first tear falls.

He stops and barley turns when I latch on to his arm.

“What is your problem? Did I do something wrong?”

He stares at me for a beat, but it's so very heavy, it feels like a lifetime. This feels important, like if I don't fix it now, I may never. I don't understand. We were fine just this morning, and now he's back to being the stick up his ass man I met that first day in the club. Doesn't he know by now that I don't know what I'm doing? That he needs to talk to me, to spell it out so that I understand.

“There's just so much going on right now with my family and I need to focus on that, no more distractions.”

Okay. I can understand that. Give him some space. More free time for his folks. But if that’s the case, why is he acting as if we’ve broken up?

“Alright,”

I agree easily. “Are we okay?”

I go with the most important question I can think of as his car pulls up to the curb.

He takes a deep breath and his lips ghost over mine, so much so that I'm not even certain it happened. “I'm gonna have to put some distance between us for the time being. I need to figure out who’s fucking with my family and the business. I can't do that with you...”

His words die and I frown.

A nervous chuckle escapes me while I try to keep my cool. “I told you I'd help you with that, didn’t I?”

My restless fingers flick at my side as my hand tightens around his arm. “You’ll be safer if we work together,” I insist.

His hand grips mine firmly and removes it. I feel the action like a blade to the chest. Hacking away until I can hardly breathe. “What was that stunt today with Steven Garbara?”

The change of subject overwhelms me a moment too long and he scoffs, turning to climb into his vehicle. “Wait a second, fuck!”

My voice betrays me with a crack. “He was fucking with you, and I wanted to protect you, so I took care of it. I'll always take care of you.”

I promise.

He searches my face while I stand in a pile of my own misery. I don't understand this. Why can't we work together? Why must he stay away while he does so himself? If I can't work with him does that mean he’ll still see me outside of his work or is he done with me just like that? Like I'm something to be tossed away.

He looks away and starts the car. “I have to go Harlyn.”

He glances down and I just now realize I've got his thigh in a death grip. Reluctantly letting him go, I step back.

I watch on from my place on the sidewalk long after he pulls away from the curb. Long enough for the drunks to come swarming in and out of bars, and restaurants to flip the signs to closed and headlights to produce a massive headache.

“Come on Har.”

I startle, just remembering that I wasn’t here alone. Anya witnessed the whole thing and she's silently watched on as I wallowed in misery.

“I won't beg,”

I whisper.

“And you shouldn’t have to. He isn’t good enough for your heart.”

She's wrong, but I don't argue.

We go home.