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He shoved me back, adjusting the water so it’d get warm.
“You dick!”
He held me against the shower wall until the water started warming.
I stilled, letting it drench me, only then realizing he’d been checking to see if I had anything in my pockets.
My shoes—no. I had sandals. They were fine.
My clothes were drenched. My hair.
My makeup would be wiped away.
When he saw I wasn’t struggling anymore, he removed his hand and raised it to lean against the top of the sliding door. “It’s the only thing that stops you from going into shock. You gotta think clearly if you’re going to handle whatever was on your phone.”
I grimaced, feeling slapped. But he was right.
I hated that.
“What do you know about this shit?”
His eyes cooled. “More than you might think.” His eyes narrowed. “You thinking more clearly?”
Damn him, but I was.
The result was a good one, a needed one, but I didn’t appreciate his delivery. I shared this sentiment with him as he reached for the door handle.
He chuckled, leaving. “I’ll keep that in consideration for the next time you’re about to have a freak out at fucking Kira Huerl’s party.” He opened the door. “I’ll be out here while you do whatever you need to.”
He shut the door.
God.
My dad.
The picture.
Scout was right.
I couldn’t think about it, remember it, though—goddamn it. It was burned in my head.
This was serious.
Max had texted me. The number was local, and I had no idea how he did that, but he did. It was from him. I’d have to tell my mom—no. I wouldn’t. She handled this for me last year. I knew the ropes. I knew the channels. I’d handle it myself this time.
I’d call the police, let the detective know, and go from there, but I already knew what would happen. Nothing. Max would lie, say it wasn’t him, but he and I both knew the truth.
Dad.
God.
I missed him so much.
No, no, no. Searing pain and shame and guilt and—it was all mixing together, rising, threatening to choke me.
Scout. I’d focus on him.
I could do that.
He’d push it away. He’d make me forget.
Scout Raiden.
I hated him, but fuck, I wanted him.
And he’d put me here. Soaking wet.
I gritted my teeth, turned off the shower, and stepped out. Reaching for a towel, I grabbed it right as the door opened. Scout was inside before I could do anything. The music from the party was blasting behind him.
“Wha—”
He was in. The door shut, and he turned to face me.
The room shrank.
The air electrified.
It was him, glaring at me. I was remembering how he looked at his fight. How he’d looked at me as I’d looked back at him. All hot and sultry, and I had to gulp to deal with the need rippling through me. He’d be a perfect distraction. Push everything away. The bad feelings. The trauma. The hate. The guilt. The sadness. The feeling that I should be the one—I licked my lips, moving toward him, when he said, “Give me your clothes.”
“What?”
His teeth were bared. His eyes were so hard. “Your clothes. Strip.”
I clutched the towel tighter. “Why?”
“Cohen’s covering for us, but your friend is outside. She’ll throw your clothes in a dryer before we take off.”
“Can’t she find me new clothes? Dry clothes?”
“Kira’s room is busy.”
Oh. OH! “I thought Cohen wanted to hook up with her.”
“He changed his mind. Her feelings got hurt. She found another guy to make her feel better.” The way he said it, so casual and careless, made it clear he didn’t give one shit about Kira.
I tucked my chin down. “Why are you doing this for me?”
He didn’t answer.
I looked back.
Those eyes were still on me, looking so harsh. “Alex is still one of my best friends. Don’t get a big head. Doing this for him.”
Right. Yeah. That made sense.
I shivered from the coldness of his tone.
“Your clothes, Ramsay,” he growled again, impatient.
“Turn around.”
He made another grunt, but turned.
I took my clothes off as fast as I could and wrapped the towel back around me. Balling the clothes up, I pressed them to Scout’s hand. He took them, opened the door, and handed them through. “Make it fast,” he said to whoever was out there, probably Gem.
He took my arm and dragged me from the bathroom and into the bedroom he’d been in before.
“What—”
“Chill.” He walked to the bed, flicking a look over his shoulder to me. Everything about him was tight and controlled, almost annoyed. He sank down, his phone in his hand. “Not going to jump you or interrogate you. Do not give one fuck why you were going catatonic.” And with that, he turned his attention to his phone.
I was frozen just inside the door, holding my towel together. A few minutes later, I realized he meant what he said. My body started to relax, just a little, and the text came back to my mind.
