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God help the woman who ever fell in love with him.
I was tempted. I was tired of myself, and it was alluring—the prospect of not being me for a night.
But Will liked Em. I’d rather live in that memory of the movie theater forever than ever make another one with anyone else.
I pushed Damon away. “And you call yourself his friend.”
He stood there, faltering for a moment, but then he chuckled, recovering. “His best friend,” he pointed out. “Maybe he sent me to test you.”
I rolled my eyes, wrapping my towel around me and shutting off the water.
“Or maybe not,” he said, and I looked over to see his eyes falling down my body slowly. “You would’ve liked it, you know? I think I might’ve liked it, actually. It certainly wouldn’t have been a chore.”
Asshole.
“Get out,” I said.
He nodded, turning around. “Well, I tried.” And then he looked back at me over his shoulder. “Has Will seen the bruises?”
I tensed.
“Be prepared for what’s going to happen when he does,” he warned. “And what can happen to him if he goes up against a cop.”
He walked out, and I stood there, my shoulders slowly slumping with the weight of his words.
Will could never see the bruises.
• • •
The moon hung low, casting the only light into the kitchen as I unloaded the dishwasher. I stacked the glasses and sorted the silverware, refusing to look at the clock that chimed on the wall, the pendulum inside ticking away the seconds.
“You should get to bed,” a voice said.
I faltered, hearing Martin behind me.
He approached my side and reached down, picking up a couple of plates out of the washer and handing them to me.
I took them, bracing myself. “I will after this,” I murmured. “Promise.”
I turned and put the plates in the cabinet, waiting for his temper. Always waiting.
“Your grades are looking good,” he told me instead. “And the gazebo is coming along. People compliment me on it.”
He loaded the dirty bowl and fork into the dishwasher, and I rinsed out the sink and wiped off the counters.
“You still have a year to start applying, but I’ll try to help with anywhere you want to go to college,” he said. “Okay?”
I blinked away the sudden burn in my eyes, nodding. These moods were harder to take sometimes than the violence.
I wiped down the stove, setting the spoon rest back in place and waiting for him to leave.
But then, I felt his fingers brush my hair, and I stopped, standing there but still not looking at him.
“I’m sorry, you know?” he choked out, and I could hear the tears in his throat.
I locked my jaw, trying to keep it together.
“I do love you, Emmy.” He paused. “That’s why I want you to go. You’ll be the one thing in this family that’s not a fucking failure.”
