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“As much as you like my beautiful face and ass?” I aim for a teasing tone, but my shaky voice misses the mark.
Goddammit, Hadley, step back and make him stop fondling your hair.
Instead of listening to my smart, inner voice, my feet remain planted, acting completely stupid. And my stupidity only spreads when Blaise trails his fingers down my hairline to my bruised cheek while my feet still remain glued to the asphalt.
He gently caresses his knuckles across my skin. “How’s your face feeling?”
I force down a shaky breath. “You know, you need to stop worrying about that too. It’s not like I’ve never had a bruised face before.”
Insinuation fills his pressing gaze. “Has your dad ever bruised your face before?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah.” And it’s the truth. He’s never bruised my face, but that doesn’t mean he’s never hit me before.
He continues stroking my cheek. “My dad used to hit me sometimes,” he admits quietly. “But when people would ask where the bruises came from, I’d lie because I was afraid and embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry.” My heart constricts, understanding his pain all too well. “That he hit you.”
“It’s fine. He’s out of my life now, so I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“My dad’s out of my life, too, so I guess I don’t have to either.”
His gaze flits to my bandaged wrist again. “Are you sure he’s completely out of your life?”
Is that what this is about?
“Wait. You think my dad did this?” I lift my wrist.
He wavers, trailing his fingers to my jawline. “I’m not sure, but part of me wonders if maybe you ran into him this morning—that that’s why you were late for school—and you don’t want to tell me because he asked you not to tell anyone he’s still hanging out in Honeyton.”
Despite the fact that his fingers caressing my face feels soothing, I step back and put some distance between us, an uneven breath I didn’t even realize I was holding easing from my lips.
Blaise blinks, lowering his hand to his side, his face a mask of confusion, making me wonder if he even realized he’d been petting my cheek for the last few minutes.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I tell him sternly. “At this point in my life, with the trouble my dad has gotten not only himself but my sisters into, I would never cover his ass. If he does show up, I’m going to notify everyone who’s after him. Because, when it all comes down to it, it’s either protect him or my sisters, and I choose my sisters.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you want to protect yourself?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“I don’t know why, but I mean what I say.” But if it all comes down to it, which it has, I’ll choose my sister’s safety over my own.
As he starts scrutinizing me, I decide that I’m done with this conversation. I have more important and pressing issues to worry about.
“Totally off topic, but did you by chance hear back from your social worker?” I ask, taking another step back from him. Not that I’m afraid of him. It just seems that standing too close to Blaise Porterson somehow makes me stupid and foggy-headed, which is so the last thing I need right now.
His mouth turns downward as he glances at the space between us. “She hasn’t yet. If I don’t hear back from her by the time schools over, I’ll give her a call. As for my dad, I tried to call him before first period started, but his secretary said he had a meeting this morning with a new guy he hired, but he told me he’d have my dad call me back when he wasn’t busy.” He sighs. “In my dad’s world, that could mean days, so I might have to stop by his house.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I start, but he talks over me.
