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She repeats my name as I walk out and jog down the stairs.
* * *
As if mytiming can’t be any worse, I walk into the house to find my dad in the living room. I give him a head nod as a silent good night, but he stops me.
He moves back and forth in his old recliner while keeping his eyes on me. “Everything okay?”
I scrub my hands over my face. “Peachy. Just need to hit the sheets.”
His wrinkles become more prominent, the longer he stares at me. “Have you told her?”
That question only fuels the uncontrolled fire burning inside me tonight. “Nope, and I’m not planning on it, so keep it to yourself, okay?”
“Maybe she can …” He stops to take in a breath of oxygen from his tank. “Maybe she can help you get through it.”
“No one can.”
He only gives me a slow nod, and I leave the room. I don’t bother turning on my light, changing my clothes, or taking off my shoes as I fall onto my old twin-size bed. Endless thoughts on an array of topics rush through me. I consider asking Lauren to move out, consider running back to Chicago until justice happens, consider telling her everything.
As much as it pains me to admit, Lauren might be the only person capable of bringing me in a few steps from the darkness, but I can’t do that to her. I won’t. It’s not only for my protection from getting hurt again, but it’s also to protect her from getting involved with someone so fucked up. I moved home, hoping to go back to the chill guy I had been before, and I’m waiting for that to happen.
Not sure if it ever will though.
My phone goes off, and I fight myself on whether to look at it.
I regret it as soon as I do.
Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Sierra. I got your number from my brother’s phone. Let’s get together sometime this week and catch up.?
My phone beeps again with a picture.
It’s her in lingerie.
Shit.
I quickly delete it.
The last thing I need is Kyle being mad at me for fucking around with his baby sister.
Fuck this day.
Nineteen
Lauren
His mouth felt so familiar.
Comfortable.
Warming.
I brush my fingers over my smiling lips. They feel different—plumper, lighter, more alive. His walking out on me shouldn’t have me grinning like a cheeseball, but I can’t stop myself.
Does your body remember someone’s touch as intensely as your brain remembers your memories with them? Our kiss felt different from those I’ve had with meaningless men. My skin tingles, wanting more of him everywhere.
That cheeseball smile is still on my face when I grab my phone and flop down on the couch, fully prepared to call Willow and scream out my frustrations, but I don’t. Instead, I open my texts and hit his name.
My heart races like I’ve been sucking down caffeine on a quick work break. Now that I’ve experienced grown-up Gage kisses, I want everything from him.
