Page 69 of Everything But Mine

Amanda’s head whips up to mine, eyes wide. It’s what I never told her. I clench my jaw and her breath catches—because I’ve given away that there’s truth in what he’s saying. And now, I wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be better if she thought I was an asshole than so weak I let my father’s words get the best of me.

“I felt obliged to step in, Amanda.” Keith nods in agreement with his father’s words. “I tried to, you know? So you wouldn’t get pulled back into his nonsense. It’s why I introduced you to Daray.” He hitches a shoulder and smirks.

Robert squints at Keith, and the latter’s smile vanishes, shoulders caving in and gaze flicking to his shoes. I won’t be able to think of Keith as a victim. Maybe I was always better off far away from my flesh and blood.

“Amanda, you have to remember that he”—he pulls out a pocket square and waves it at me—“is his mother’s son.” He takes off his glasses and cleans them. It feels as if he’s trying to wipe his role in giving me life. “And people like them crumble.” His cold, judging eyes leave Amanda’s and zero in on me. “He’s already proven to you he’ll fall apart at the slightest challenge, hasn’t he?”

Robert takes a step forward, stretching his hand outward as if about to touch Amanda’s cheek. Before I can shift between them, Amanda slaps his hand away.

“You got it fucking wrong,” I snarl. “You’re proud you tore me apart? All that does is prove that you’re a shit father. And an even worse person.”

Robert keeps his eyebrows and mouth neutral, but a red tinge creeps up his collar. “Just remember, Amanda,” he says. “His mother never got it together for me. He won’t ever get it together for you.”

I can’t fucking argue with that, can I? A twisting knot wraps around my ribs until my lungs can’t expand with the air I’m breathing. Heat rushes up the back of my neck, prickling along my scalp. Until I become more than my failures, I’m the person Robert’s describing. I try to untangle my hand from hers, but she holds me in place. She wraps her other arm around my back so tight holding everything I’m feeling becomes easier.

She lifts her chin and locks eyes with my dad. “I don’t need him to get it together for me. I can do that just fine on my own.” Her heart hammers against my biceps. She turns to me then, because this is her declaration. “I just need him with me. Figuring shit out with me.”

I sag into her, just a bit, just so she feels the weight of what she’s just done. Because in her words, something long-held gives way. And even though I’m still angry at her, it’s not a loud, uncontrolled fire anymore but a low simmer. Because there’s acceptance in Amanda’s gaze. And without looking back at either of them, he threads our fingers together.

“We gotta go, Dad,” I infuse the last word with mockery. I’m already guiding Amanda away when I turn my head to say over my shoulder, “Amanda and I gotta talk about important shit.”

My hand shakes in hers, but neither of us lets go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ERIC

Away from Robert and Keith, my anger at Amanda seeps back in. I shove my hands in my pockets. With every step, her fingertips brush the side of my palm—an insistent offer I don’t take.

I’m not supposed to be this for her. I’m supposed to show her I’m safe and possess never-ending patience. I’m supposed to show Amanda I’ll wait forever for her to be ready to talk. I’m fucking tired of waiting.

I’m back to picturing her laughing with Daray, joking about how broken I am after fucking. My breath turns deep and shaky as I unlock our room and hold the door open for her. Not even her having my back against my own blood can shake off the fact that this man who has had everything I still haven’t managed to get, knows the part of me I hate the most.

Amanda keeps trying to step closer into my space, only to retreat. Uncertainty and tension weighing in her posture as she figures out what to do with my anger. I want to kiss her until she forgets his name.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I nod, but it’s a reflex. “I’m fine.” I taste the sourness of the lie on my tongue. I turn away before she can see it, shrugging out of the suit jacket and flinging it onto the bed. Then I tug at my tie until my fingers shake. “Actually.” I rip the knot loose and undo two buttons from my shirt collar. My chest feels tight when I face her again. “No. I’m not.” My jaw clicks. “Did you tell Daray about that night?”

She steps forward, and I retreat until my calves bump into the armchair behind me. She draws her brows together as she clenches and unclenches her hands at her sides.

“How could you talk to him about it,” I say, my voice rising despite myself, “and not me?”

She shoots her hands up, palms toward me, stopping inches from my shirt, fingers splayed, then pressed together. I don’t take them.

“Let’s talk now.” She fists her hands at her hips now. “And you’re going to tell me whatever Robert said about Italy.”

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Amanda.” The words leave my mouth sharp, brittle. Self-hatred bubbles for still pushing, but I can’t stop. “You chose to open up to that piece of trash over me.”

“Eric, I told my boyfriend something in confidence,” she snaps, heat bleeding into her voice. “It was affecting how I was showing up for him.”

“That was about us. About me.” I tap my chest with my fist at the last word, nails biting into my palms. “You gave him something to hurt me with.” The thought makes my blood burn with vulnerability and exposure, as if everyone watched my heart bleed through my shirt, stabbed with a blade Amanda gave Daray.

My pulse roars in my ears. She paces with short, fast steps, then turns and stops in front of me again.

“It wasn’t like that, Eric.” She drags in a breath, shoulders lifting, high and tense, then sucks in a breath, her neck tensing before she swallows.

“Then what was it like?” I demand. “Because according to him, you gave him the blowjob of his life and then made fun of me.”