Luke is wearing a blue baseball cap pulled low, but I’d know that jawline anywhere. He looks older, tired, and he’s sweating despite the cold.
His eyes are the same—dark, flat—but his pupils are blown wide, darting around like a trapped animal. He’s high. The smell of stale whiskey and something chemical wafts out of the window.
On his hand, I can still see the scarred-over bite marks he got the last time he tried to attack me. Stella’s dogs defended us.
It all ended with Jude and his pack in prison for assaulting Luke, but it gives me a grim sort of satisfaction to know Luke is the one with the permanent marks.
“Get in, Amber,” he says. His voice is exactly as I remember. Smooth, condescending. “We need to talk.”
“No,” I say. My voice trembles, but I stand my ground. “You need to leave. You can’t be here. There’s a restraining order.”
He laughs, a dry, ugly sound that turns into a wet cough. “Restraining order. You think a piece of paper matters? I’m not here to hurt you, baby. I’m here because you’re ignoring me. I texted you. I called. I’ve been driving for hours.”
“I didn’t want to talk to you,” I say, gripping my phone tight enough to make the plastic case creak.
“So you moved on, huh?” He nods toward the school, his movements jerky and aggressive. “I saw the suits. Three of them? Really? Moving up in the world, huh? I knew you’d be fucking someone soon enough, just to get a job. You always were good at opening your legs to survive.”
“That’s none of your business,” I say, my chin lifting despite the terror freezing my veins. “Go, Luke. Before I scream.”
He scratches at his neck, his fingernails digging into the skin. “You’re not going to scream. You don’t want the scene. Not with your little girl in there winning her trophy. You don’t want everyone to know what a mess you are.”
“Leave me alone,” I warn him. “I’m done. We’re done.”
“We’re not done until I say we’re done,” he snaps, then immediately composes himself, wiping a hand over his mouth. “I missed you, Amber.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I whisper.
“I missed you and I missed our daughter,” he says, his voice going sickly sweet, the drugs making his mood swing wildly. “So, I thought I should come by and take you home. We can be a family again.”
“Maisie is my daughter.”
“I’m the reason your daughter is even alive, so get off your fucking high horse,” he spits, the veneer of charm cracking. “I was the one who provided you with shelter and clothes and food when you were shaking in a gutter. You should be thanking me.”
“Fuck you.”
His energy immediately shifts. The high turns black. “Say that again. I dare you.”
Fear seeps into every fiber of my being. I am once again that young, scared woman living under his roof, at the mercy of his temper.
He must notice the dread on my face because he laughs darkly. “Get in the car, Amber.”
“No.”
“I’m not playing with you. Get in the car right now. You don’t want me to get angry. You know what happens when I do.”
Yelling. Bruising. Bones snapping. I remember very well what happened whenever I made him angry.
“Don’t do this. Please,” I beg. I hate how small my voice sounds.
“If I have to repeat myself, things are going to get real bad real fast, bitch,” he snarls, leaning out the window. “I can start by burning down that pretty little café where your sister-in-law works. Or that bakery. Or maybe that fancy place you work at. I’ll make sure everyone inside feels the heat.”
My blood turns to ice. “This has nothing to do with them.”
“Then get in the car,” he says, his voice dropping to a terrifying calm. “We’re going to talk. Or I start walking toward that gymnasium right now. I’ll make a scene, Amber. I’ll scream about what a drug addict you are in front of everyone.”
He reaches for the door handle to push it open, but I don’t move. I stare at him, hatred boiling in my veins.
“Get. In.”
