I stared at her through the narrow opening, every savage thing inside me going quiet.
“Me?” I said.
My voice came out rough, almost quiet, which only made it worse.
“Me?” I repeated, pushing the door wider when she tried to force it shut. “You want to stand there and ask me what the fuck I’m doing here?”
“Hayden—”
I shoved the door open and stepped inside before she could stop me.
She stumbled back, then came at me at once, trying to push me toward the door, one hand braced against my chest. I barely felt it. My body had already crossed the threshold, and so had every ugly truth she thought she could keep buried.
“Get out,” she whispered, furious and terrified at the same time.
I looked down at her hand against my chest, then back at her face.
“No,” I said.
“Hayden, leave.”
“Fuck no.”
“Helena is sleeping.”
That name in her mouth nearly split me open.
“Please,” she said, and the anger in her voice thinned into something desperate. “Please don’t do this here. Not now.”
I looked at her then, really looked at her. The fear in her face. The panic she was trying to force down. The way she stood between me and the hallway as if her body alone could keep me from the truth. Something vicious rose in me.
“You lost that chance.”
She froze. The words landed exactly where I wanted them to.
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t walk into my home and speak to me this way.”
A bitter laugh dragged out of me.
“Your home?” I repeated. “You hide my child from me for years, and now you want to tell me how I’m allowed to speak in this apartment?”
Her whole body went rigid.
“Keep your voice down,” she snapped.
“Why?” I stepped closer. “Afraid she’ll wake up and hear the truth?”
“Stop it.”
“No, you stop it.” My voice dropped into something harder, meaner. “Stop standing there acting like I’m the one who crossed the line tonight.”
Her chin lifted, though it trembled with the effort of holding herself together.
“You need to leave.”
“And you need to start fucking talking.”
For one terrible second, all we did was stare at each other.
