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I know I’ve pushed her away; I know that. It’s been killing me. But I promised her I’d always protect her, and as long as I’m alive, I will.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I knew it would be a damn hard promise to keep, but hell…I had no idea it would be this hard.
I had no idea the one person I’d need to protect her from was me.
I cling tighter, the tips of my fingers grazing her hair. Silky soft, but not made for me. Not made for my hands to fist, or for my lips to kiss.
This is so wrong.
So, so wrong—and all I’ve wanted to do is protect her from these feelings.
These confusing fucking feelings.
Wendy poisoned my mind with crooked thoughts, and all I’ve done is let them fester. Every time I close my eyes, I think of that wretched dream.
I think of June, so sweet and perfect, naked in my arms, writhing, panting, begging me to take her.
It’s sick.
I’ve been derailed. Possessed.
I’m losing myself…
I’m losing her.
“Please don’t hate me, Brant,” she says, pressing her face into the front of my shirt. She inhales deeply, then nuzzles her nose against the cotton. The gesture sends an illicit tremor through me. “Promise me.”
I swallow back the poison and hope it doesn’t choke me.
“That would be impossible,” I say, and it’s as honest as I’ve ever been. With her cheeks between my palms, I tug her head back gently, gazing down at her. My thumbs brush along her skin, collecting the new falling tears. “I can only love you. There’s no other way.”
“You mean it?”
“Of course I mean it.”
A smile lifts on her pretty face, as porcelain as a china doll and just as delicate. But as she stares up at me, her eyes start to squint through the wall of darkness. And then they widen with horror, and her hands fly up to grasp my face. “Brant, you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
I allow her to graze her fingertips along my busted bottom lip. I shouldn’t allow it, but I do. I’ve gone too long without her touch, and my willpower has shriveled up and died.
My heart will be next if I don’t step away.
June traces two fingers along the ugly split, with nothing but affection and sweetness glowing in her eyes. Far from the corruption lacing my bloodstream, tainting me with impure thoughts. My eyelids flutter, and I pray she doesn’t notice the way I sway, drunk on the feel of something so innocent. Something I never used to question.
I need to go.
I need to figure out a way to protect her from whatever the hell this is, this plague, this sickness, without pushing her away. Without breaking her heart.
Without making her think I don’t love her because nothing—absolutely nothing—has been further from the truth.
“June.” I take her wrist in my hand and lower her arm, catching the flash of worry in her eyes. “Junebug, you should get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”
I don’t let her question it or convince me to stay.
I just go. I walk out.
I can’t be in here right now. She’s too soft, too vulnerable. I’m still surging with adrenaline. I’m still suffocating on the awful awareness that the child I watched grow up, the angel I swore to protect, the little girl I craved in a million beautiful, innocent ways—is now becoming the girl I crave in the only way I shouldn’t.
