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He reaches for me, but I recoil. Hurt flashes across his face.
“Right,” he says, hands on his hips, jaw tight. “Because I’m just that big of a fuck-up? Instead of believing what you know, instead of trusting—” He steps forward and presses my hand to his chest and his to mine.
I try to break away, but his grip is too strong. I feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath my palm.
“Instead of trusting what’s in here. You’re just going to look for the bad? You’re going to believe what you want and only see the worst of me?”
I try to tug my hand free, but he steps closer. I’m breathing the same air as him and it’s nearly breaking me.
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Yeah, it is. You’re finally seeing it. That I’m not good enough for you, and now you’ve got an excuse to walk away.”
I drop my jaw and shake my head. “Not good enough? Do you hear yourself? You could leave at any minute. Any second, for someone thinner, someone sexier than me. Someone who looks better on your arm—that’s what you need, isn’t it?”
“That’s not what—”
“I know what I heard,” I hiss, and I try to tug my hand away from him again, but his grip is solid, as if he’s not going to let go of me until I give in to whatever bullshit line he wants to feed me.
“Last night, Faye. That was real. What I said—” He presses his finger into my sternum and my throat tightens. “I can’t just not talk to attractive women to make you more comfortable.”
My cheeks flush hot and I jerk out of his grasp.
“I never asked you to do that. Hell, I never asked for any of this. I never thought I’d have to ask you not to let naked women feel you up behind my back.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, and then grabs me again, his hands squeezing my arms as if he just needs me to stay still long enough and then he can make me believe whatever he says.
“I didn’t mean that. I meant—” he growls and cups my cheeks, squeezing my face too tight. “Faye, I’m so thankful that you walked into my life. I only wanted…” He drops his head as if he can’t find the right words. Probably because they don’t exist.
I wrap my hands around his wrists and squeeze. He looks up.
“Telling me you’re thankful can’t fix everything, Zeke.”
He flinches, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t back off.
“Yourgratitudecan’t fix what you’ve broken.”
He stares at me, stunned, and I feel the hollow ache of something ripping into pieces in my chest.
Then Edie is there.
“Get your damn hands off her,” Edie practically growls, and Zeke flinches. It’s enough for him to let go, and I feel the breathless moment our connection severs.
She threads her fingers through mine and tugs me up the hall. I walk at her pace and hear commotion behind me as Zeke follows, his voice frenzied and blurring with my own thundering heartbeat in my ears.
“Where—” I begin to ask.
“We’re getting out of here.”
“Edie, you can’t,” I say.
But she gives me the most ferocious look I’ve ever seen on her delicate features. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do. It’s my party and I’ll bail if I want to.”
From there, everything moves in fits and spurts—some things incredibly clear and vivid like the clack of our heels on the tile floor, other things murkier and frenzied like the blur of black suits hovering around the door to the men’s salon. All I know for sure is that Edie is holding my hand. I feel a breeze on my face; my father is there, looking stunned; he lunges behind us, as if to collide with something; Dar is there, the smile vanishing from his face as he darts down the hall behind us; Mom says something about handling things; then we’re outside and someone places something warm and soft on my shoulders; Edie helps me into a fancy car.
She shuts the door and wraps the two of us in a blanket, her arm around me.
“She’s dead to me,” Edie whispers, pressing a kiss to my temple. “She may be family, but she’s dead to me.”
