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He stayed on the floor, head still beneath the sink.
His chest expanded and contracted as he tried to catch his breath, and when he pushed out from underneath the sink, he was soaked.
Water dripped from his jaw. His ears. His nose.
“I fucking hate this place,” he said.
I lost my battle. Irrepressible laughter pressed so hard against my sternum that if I didn’t let it out, I’d probably start crying.
Everything was wet. Everything.
My clothes. My hair. His clothes. His hair. The floor. The counters.
I slumped against the fridge while I tried desperately to pull myself together.
But when Burke slowly pushed himself up to a standing position, it was the look in his eye that had my laughter dying instantly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BURKE
“This funny to you?” I asked, swiping my hand over my face.
Her chest heaved on a few deep breaths, her laughter dying when she saw that I was, unequivocally, not laughing with her.
“I mean ...” She paused, her hand gesturing to the water everywhere. Then her face smoothed out, her eyes wide as she registered the tension I couldn’t quite shake. “No,” she said finally. “It’s not funny.”
I snatched the dish towel hanging over the handle on the oven and rubbed it over my face and neck. I handed it to her so she could do the same.
“Ihatethis house,” I said again. The words were torn straight from my chest. Pain followed as soon as they hit the air.
Her hands slowed as she wiped off her chest. Charlotte set the towel on the counter, her chin notched up. “No, you don’t.”
I took a step closer. “Yes, I do.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
I was at the end of my fucking rope, far too raw to be having any sort of conversation with Charlotte. She pushed every button. Every single one I had in my possession.
And for the first time, I realized just how dangerous a game I’d been playing, purposely doing the exact same thing to her.
It had all been innocent at first. But now that I could act, now that I could take different pieces of her for my own enjoyment—the ones she was offering—it made the push and pull so much more volatile.
From where she stood, she watched me with a healthy dose of trepidation in her eyes.
We’d done that before too. Many times.
I was unsteady from all the emotions desperately trying to get out, and she walked carefully into the space with me, unsure for different reasons.
“You want to know why I was freaking out earlier?” My voice came out harsh and rough.
“Only if you want to tell me,” Charlotte said. But her eyes pleaded for me to do exactly that.
They’d been begging for more every single time we talked. When she shared, allowing me to see a bigger picture of who she was, there was no hiding that she wanted that from me too.
I had so many stories that I could’ve told her.
My dad.
