To learn to think with my goddamn head instead of whatever the fuck happens to my brain when I’m back at the Westerhouse estate. When I’m back in my father’s grasp.
If only those requests were simple, I might be able to do them.
But they’re not.
I set an alarm for an hour from now to go back downstairs and ask someone to go with me to the hospital.
Jealousy flares, but I tamp it down. I have no fucking right to be jealous that they’re down there with her and I’m up here alone. Not one of them would have ever gotten within a goddamn mile of the level of fuck-up I did. They can keep their damn heads, at least well enough to not kill the fucking woman they love.
Groaning, I flop back into my bed, my hand screaming when it’s jostled.
I deserve the pain. Because that thought is so damn bitter in its truth.
I was falling for her. Hard.
And I’ve ruined it.
I’d leave my hand busted if I could.
But even as a fucked-up, broken pair of fists, she needs me. She needs me to protect her, even if I’m shit at it.
My goddamn fists have always been my strength. The way I first tasted freedom from my father. The way I’ve protected women I don’t even know.
I’ll need them in one piece if I stand a chance at protecting the one I actually care about.
The one I might even love.
If only I hadn’t fucked it up so completely.
Chapter 14
Clara
That night, I trail RJ back to his room, needing his steadiness more than I care to examine.
Walker disappeared with his sketchbook a few hours ago, and Jansen stomped into his room in a huff after taking Trips to the Emergency room. And Trips wouldn’t even meet my eyes as he slumped back upstairs, his door closing with a click.
So, I need RJ. And I’m starting to be okay with needing him. With needing them all.
Even Trips.
If only I knew how to get back to where we were, that moment on the dance floor, where it was clear in his face. In the strength of his hand at the small of my back, and the way his grip tightened around mine. We had a future.
For a single song, a future.
Only to have it usurped by his father. Then destroyed by our own stupid choices.
Why didn’t I just go back inside?
Because I didn’t want him to be alone. Not with his grief, his rage.
It was mine, too, even if I didn’t show it the way he did. Even if I can’t feel it anymore, in the hollowness of my chest.
Summer texted earlier, checking in, and I didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been invited to brunch the following morning. She didn’t see Trips’ wrapped fists or my barely suppressed shivers, let alone watch Trips get down on one knee, nerves evident in the creases around his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils.
In the eyes of the world, I’m engaged.
And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.
