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“Roman,” Eve gasps, and it's the first time since she stepped into the house I truly feel her. My name coming from her lips, in this place, brings back all the memories I’ve worked so hard at suppressing.
It makes me feel like I’m drowning and I have to shake off the maelstrom of emotions ripping me apart, limb by limb.
“I’m not fucking talking to you,” I snarl, still not looking at her.
I can’t.
“Don’t speak to her like that,” my father grits out. My brow kicks up as my head rears back.
So, that’s how it is?
He’s in deeper than I thought.
After I saw them together at the festival, I jumped on my bike and raced here. Of course I did.
She’s camming, and apparently, fucking my father. I thought something was wrong. I thought I could get to the bottom of it.
I thought I could help her.
But then I replayed the way she kissed him over and over in my head, and I knew it wasn’t him pursuing her. It was the other way around. He stood stoically, like he always does, and let her fawn all over him.
It’s the way he likes things. He doesn’t want to chase, he wants to be chased. And Eve…she’s too damn good at chasing. Relentless, even.
Except for when I really needed her to follow.
Maybe that’s why I’m here. To intervene her path, or to trip her up a few times. Maybe it’s because I can’t stand the idea that she’s happy while I’m miserable.
Or maybe I’m just an asshole.
“Were you on vacation?” I ask, pointedly looking down at the bags they dropped when they realized they weren’t alone anymore. I kick the bag closest to me with the toe of my dirty boot, knowing it’ll drive him mad.
Isaac stands a little taller, his chin tipping back as his eyes narrow.
There he is.
My blood hums as he sizes me up, probably figuring out his chances of overpowering me.
I see the moment he realizes he can’t.
It’s fucking incredible.
“We—what are you—”
“I said I’m not talking to you.” I finally lift my eyes to Eve’s, and her giant baby blues, the ones I've dreamt about for years, look…haunted. Terrified, maybe. Definitely shocked. I’m just not sure if it’s because I’m here or because she’s been caught with her legs wide fucking open.
A shudder of revulsion works its way down my spine.
“We were on a trip,” Isaac finally says, pulling my attention away from the whore at his back.
“Figured,” I say with a nonchalant shrug as I take another long drag, imagining the way he’d scream if I snuffed the ember out on his lying, ugly face. “Where?”
“Why does it matter?” he replies, his voice deathly low.
I’m tired of playing with them. I want them to know I know. That I saw them. That I can ruin their lives with one word. I just wish I’d taken a picture.
Finally, I hold all the power in a house where I lost so goddamn much.
“I saw you at the art festival in Savannah,” I say, my tone emotionless.
