"Hey." I tip her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze again. "Doesn't matter if she lost her husband or not, baby. There is no excuse for the way she treats you. You shouldneverhave had to grow up feeling like there was something wrong with you because your own mother made you feel that way."
"I know," she whispers.
"Do you?" I ask, worried as fuck that she doesn't actually know how fucked up the shit she's been through because of her mother truly is. Grief makes people do all kinds of crazy shit. I get that. I understand it. But grief isn't an excuse for making your own kid question their worth. There never should have been a single day when Hattie felt like she was anything less than perfect. Instead, she's had nothing but days where she feels like she doesn't fit.
I'm worried as fuck that hitting Tye today is going to add to what she already carries. I don't want to be the reason she walks around, feeling like a problem. She willneverbe that.
"I do," she whispers. "I know she was supposed to love me the same way my dad did. I don't know why she didn't. But I do know that it isn't anything I did. And I do know there's nothing wrong with me. Sometimes I just…"
"What?"
"I guess sometimes I just wonder if she'd be any different if I did look more like her or my brothers, you know?" She shrugs helplessly. "I love that I look like my dad, but I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't feel so out of place next to them if I'd taken after her."
"Jesus." I scoop her up into my arms, carrying her across her living room to a massive sectional. There are bookshelves overflowing all over the room, and even more stacked neatly on the coffee table, bookmarks shoved between pages like she's in the middle of reading the entire stack. We settle into the middle of it with her on my lap.
"You aren't out of place next to them, butterfly."
"I really am, Sidney." She lifts those impossibly gray eyes to mine. "We did a family photo spread for a magazine one year. The editorial team tried to crop me out."
"What the fuck?"
"The boys threw a fit and refused to allow them to print anything that I wasn't in." She glances down. "It's not like it hasn't happened before or won't happen again. When you're my size, people think you aren't supposed to take up space,especiallynot if it's next to professional athletes."
"There isn't a goddamn thing wrong with your size, Hattie," I growl, mad enough to spit nails. Fuck everyone who ever treated her like shit. I hope they all rot, every last goddamn one of them.
Her wide eyes meet mine. "I know there isn't anything wrong with my size. I like my body. But my brothers are freaking athletes. As far as the world is concerned, I'm supposed to be a supermodel."
And her own mother leads the charge, bullying her about it. Honestly, fuck her mother.
"Is that what you want?" I ask her, curious about what she wants for herself, not because it's what she thinks she's supposed to want or what everyone tells her she's supposed to want. I wantto know whatshewants. That's what I want to give her—her dreams, not anyone else's.
"God no." Her nose wrinkles. "I just want to live my life. I don't want to be constantly compared to my brothers. I may not fit into their world, but I fit my own. I just want to live in it."
Fuck.
My heart stutters and stalls because my world is their world. It's more of the same shit and the same people she's spent most of her life dealing with. And she wants nothing to do with it, just like Tye said. And he was right. She shouldn't have to live that way. She shouldn't even beaskedto live that way.
I fucked up and made it worse today. She deserved better.
And yet…I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to let her go, either.
I didn't start falling when she asked me to date her. I didn't start falling when she wanted tacos instead of steak or when she was in my bed or any of the little moments between. I started falling months ago, when I saw her in the stands at practice, oblivious to the world around her. I've fallen a little harder every time I've seen her since then—when her eyes go wide, and she hurries off in the opposite direction, when she laughs like no one is watching, when she refuses to bow her head despite everything she carries.
I don't know how to stop now.
"What do you want from me, Hattie?" I ask, searching her face again, desperately trying to figure out what she needs. Whatever it is, I'll give it to her. I swear to Christ I will, even if it kills me.
She stares at me for a long moment, her gaze dancing across my face like she isn't sure how to answer that question…or like she's afraid to answer it.
"Tell me the truth, butterfly. Whatever it is, I'll give it to you." I swallow hard. "If you want me to fuck off out of your life and let you live in peace, you gotta tell me."
Tears well in her eyes. "I…I don't want that," she whispers so softly I have to lean in to hear her. "I don't want that at all, Sidney."
"What do you want, baby? Tell me."
"I want…" she says, her voice shaking. "I want…you."
"Christ." I cup the back of her head, pressing our foreheads together. "You already have me, butterfly. You've had me since I saw you sitting in the stands four months ago."
