I tug harder. “Julien. I beg you.”
Something in my voice must get through because he finally follows, letting me coax him into the hallway. I slam the door behind us, not caring who hears, and keep moving, my hand still clutched around his wrist like it’s the only thing anchoring me to earth.
“Dakota—”
“Not here.” My feet carry me forward, away from the kitchen, away from my father, away from that whole fucking scene.
The spiral staircase appears ahead. Yes. Up. Away. I release his wrist only to grab the railing and take the steps two at a time, not checking if he follows. But I hear his heavy footsteps behind me and the controlled breathing of a man trying very hard not to explode.
Cold pre-dawn air hits my face as we emerge into the bell tower. I gulp it down like I’m drowning, my lungs burning.
“Why did you stop me?” Julien’s voice is dangerously quiet.
I spin to face him. “What were you going to do? Beat him to death with your bare hands?”
“He hurt you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Looks pretty fucking simple to me.” He steps closer, one hand lifting toward my face, stopping inches from my cheek, where I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “He hit you.”
I step back. “It was an accident.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“Then tell me. Make me understand why you’re defending him.”
“Because—” I clutch my wrist. “Because he’s still my father. And we’re in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, and we need everyone functioning if we want to survive. And Amelia. She wouldn’t survive it.”
He crosses his arms. “Try again.”
“What do you want from me?” The words tear from my throat. “A sob story? Poor little Dakota with the mean daddy? Will that make you feel better?” I can’t do this. The tears I’ve been fighting all my life rise, burning behind my eyes. Can’t stand here and let him see me break. I spin around. “It’s my fault. I’ve always known better.”
I knew it was a mistake, and I did it anyway.
Why am I so stupid?
The wind picks up, whistling through the arched openings of the tower, and I close my eyes, letting it whip my hair across my face.
It’s like ice on my burning cheek.
Freezing the pain.
“It’s my fault they got to Amelia.” I wipe at my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”
He moves behind me, his shadow merging with mine. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
He wasn’t supposed to know. Nobody was.
“Please.” His voice promises safety, and my foolish heart wins the fight against my mind.
I slowly turn, keeping my head low.
The wind catches my hair again, sending it across my face. Before I can brush it away, his fingers are there, tucking the strands behind my ear and lingering far longer than needed. Far longer than I should hope for. His thumb grazes my cheekbone where my father’s hand connected, traveling down to my chin and tipping it up, forcing me to meet his eyes.
