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Blaine hunched over her and hooked his hands under her armpits, helping her stand. “Come on. Don’t cry.”
His third attempted exit held far less vitriol than the others, like maybe he’d twigged there was so much more here than a bad guy taking advantage.
This time, Sarah did as she was told, even though she shook him off so she could walk on her own. “I’m not crying. I don’t cry.”
Her gaze hit Dean, and she stopped just before the door. The scrunched heartache was gone from her face, replaced with something harder and more unreadable, her old and familiar defenses seemingly restored.
“I hope you stay in a cell forever.” She pressed her trembling lips together for a moment, as though her harsh words hurt her as much as they did him, evoking more pain than he’d experienced in years—not since that little boy pushed alone into the world by a mother who’d perhaps never cared.
But Sarah did care.
So maybe the hurt here was worse.
She released the tension in her lips and drew a slow and shaky breath. “I didn’t want to love you, but you let me, anyway. So, for that—for the years of hurt you’ve lumped on me—I hope you stay in a cell forever, and I hope my face haunts you for just as long.”
