Page 187 of Override

Rachel had given me the look she uses when she thinks I'm being deliberately difficult.

I usually am.

"All of them, Keaton."

I knew exactly what she meant. I'd said no. Immediately.

Rachel hadn't been impressed. "You don't get to do that."

"I'm not taking her back there."

"I'm not asking you to."

"It sounds exactly like you're asking me to."

"I'm telling you that when she wakes up tomorrow, you need to ask her where she wants to go."

I had stared at her. She had stared back.

Rachel is surprisingly difficult to intimidate for someone who regularly wears cardigans with flowers embroidered on the sleeves.

"Her parents," she'd said. "A hotel. Here. Somewhere else." Then she'd paused. I'd known what was coming. "Or Ronan."

I'd walked away. Rachel had followed me. I'd walked faster. She had continued following me. I'd considered climbing out a window.

In the end, she'd caught my arm and forced me to look at her. "Trust her."

I hadn't understood then. I'm not sure I do now. Rachel had sighed.

"Every choice has been taken away from Maeve. What she wears. Where she goes. Who she talks to. You can't rescue her by making another decision for her."

That had shut me up. Mostly because I hated that she was right. I'd looked through the doorway toward the bedroom where Maeve was changing into the clothes I'd managed to save.

"What if she chooses him?" The question had come out quieter than I'd intended.

Rachel's expression softened. I hated that too. "Then you let her."

No. Every part of me had rejected the idea. Viscerally. Violently.

I'd spent months watching Ronan reduce Maeve's world one decision at a time. I'd watched her smiles disappear. Watched her stop leaving the house. Watched her learn to apologize before she even understood what she'd done wrong.

I couldn't take her back. I wouldn't.

Rachel had squeezed my arm. "And then you make sure she knows she can leave again."

I hadn't liked that answer any more than the first one. But the problem with Rachel is that she understands people. The problem with me is that, at the moment, I don't understand a fucking thing.

I don't understand why the thought of Maeve going back to Ronan makes me want to tear something apart with my bare hands.

I don't understand why I slept on a hardwood floor because the couch felt too far away from her.

I don't understand why I know exactly how many times she shifted in her sleep or why the sound of her snoring made me smile like an idiot in the dark.

And I definitely don't understand why, when Rachel told me to trust Maeve, something inside me immediately responded that I already did.

So I'd done the only logical thing available. I'd deferred to someone with more experience. "Fine."

Rachel had narrowed her eyes. "Fine what?"