My eyes widen at the ache in his voice, and I’m still trying to sort out what’s happened when all of a sudden, footsteps pound toward me. I should move. Or maybe make it known that I’m here, so I don’t get caught in a situation that looks a lot like eavesdropping. But instead, I’m rooted to the spot. Finally, I get my wits about me, whirl around, and race upward until I hit the landing. I stop there, because what am I going to do, hide?
Hayze appears a moment later and comes crashing to a halt when he spots me standing there with the broom. His face is red, eyes wild, and his hair stands on end like he’s had frustrated hands tugging at it. One ragged, unsteady breath after another heaves from him as we lock eyes before I tear my gaze away, forcing it to the ground before me. He’s so agitated, I have no idea what to do. My hands tighten on the broomstick.
“You heard that,” he gasps out, stepping toward me.
I carefully tilt my chin upward, then give him the slightest of nods while watching for any indication that I should run.
His lips clamp together, a sharp exhale huffing from his nostrils before he shakes his head. Eyes crashing shut, he darts past me, heading for the sons’ bedroom. The door closes behind him with a menacing click.
I stand here staring at it for several minutes. There’s no telling what possesses me next, but I put my hand on the knob and twist, slowly pushing the door open while my head blares a warning.What are you doing? You shouldn’t even be thinking about entering this room! Cleaning can wait. But you know. You know that’s not why you’re poking your head in.
My lungs refuse to work. Because there’s the real reason I shouldn’t have intruded. Hayze sits on one of the beds, head in his hands, broad back rising and falling with each labored breath. His distress is all too evident in the stiffness of his posture, in the way he grips his head like he’s trying to keep it from tumbling from his shoulders, in the way his chest jerks, and how his throat works extra hard to swallow the raw emotion threatening.
In that moment, I feel for him, and it brings me right back to the part of him he’d shown me the day he’d been drawing in his father’s room. We’d had our first real conversation that day, andhe’d opened up about some of his misgivings about his life here. My heart quakes in agony, as every molecule of his pain bursts free, putting it on full display.
For a second time, this man’s situation tugs at my heartstrings.“Hayze?” I question softly as I take a few steps into the room on quiet, bare feet.
His head snaps to attention, wrenched from the hold he’d had on himself. Tired, wounded eyes meet mine, the faintest gloss visible in them. He blinks hard, his jaw tightening as he shoots to his feet and turns his back on me. “Get out.”
I stare at him as his chest heaves. It’s clear he’s trying to get himself under control… but any semblance of it has long since fled the building. I don’t know why I even do it, but I try again. “Hayze.”
“What?” he growls as he pivots, giving me a harsh glare.
“I never know what to expect from you.”
“Well, you shouldn’t expect a fucking thing. I’m not?—”
Unsure what I’m trying to accomplish, something pushes me forward, knowledge hovering in some corner of my brain. He’s hurting. I don’t know why it bothers me, but it really fucking does, and I want to know what’s brought this on.I must be completely fucking crazy.I drag in a breath and press a hand to my chest. “Do you want me to go get someone? I could find Arrow.”
“No.”
“Talk to me, Hayze. I won’t tell anyone.Whatever it is,” I murmur cautiously. Then, as voices drift to us from somewhere downstairs, his gaze snaps to the door, then he silently marches over and shuts it. Turning around, he stares at me, hands on his hips. Shakes his head.
A ragged ache rolls off him in waves. “I’m not…” He stops. Sighs. Swallows. Then crosses to where my feet remain glued to the floor. “I fucked up today. I’m always messing things up.” His chest caves in on a tortured exhale. “It’s not important. You’re the last person I should be dumping my issues on. Forget I said anything.”
My brows crash together as a memory of those few minutes with him out at the tree slams into me.I didn’t lie. We tried to find you.Triedto help you.The feel of his lips on mine, the urgent way he’d touched me, like he wanted more than anything for me to believe him, that he would do anything to help me. And then like a torturous reel, my mind rewinds to every other moment we’ve shared since he brought me here. Some of what’s happened between us has been horrifying, but every time his guard drops, I think I see what’s really inside. That part of him is what I need to reach. And it’s begging without words for someone to understand, to help him.
I sigh heavily, utterly confused by my own thoughts and feelings toward this man. With a hand to his chest, I counter, “No. Iwon’tforget. Explain. What do you mean? How did you fuck up?”
He drags in a shuddering breath, and I swear,he’s trying to keep himself from losing it. I’ve seen hints, glimmers of who I think he is all along, but now… he’s screaming to be seen—byme.And I’m desperate to unlock the man who seems to have so much weighing on his shoulders—not only everything his father and his position in this crazy town puts there—but also the responsibility he places upon himself.
He blinks again, pulling his gaze from mine and averting it to a spot somewhere over my shoulder. “Do you hate me, Delilah?”
I stare up at him, entirely knocked off balance by the sorrow living within those five words. Strangely, I think the answer to his question is actually one that stuns me. No. I don’t hate him. Not really. My head and my heart are convoluted places where confusion thrives and memories of what he’s done live. It’ll probably take a long time for me to get over our beginnings here … but that doesn’t mean I hate him.
He’s still looking off into the distance when I reach upward, cupping his cheek and gently attempting to steer him back to me. “Hayze, I hate things you’ve done. That’s all.” My lips tremble as my words rock through him.
He nods. “I wish I could protect you better from—” His breath gusts out.“Everything.”
I shift my thumb to his bottom lip, sliding it over the full swell. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know he’s telling me the complete and utter truth. I nod. “Tell me what has you all torn up.”
Slowly, he reaches out, grasps my wrist, and rotates my arm.
I look down to find my tattoo staring back at both of us. His eyes are locked there, and he traces a fingertip over the number.
He brings my wrist to his lips. “Did you know… when I did this—” The sigh that leaves him is full of misery.Oh my god. What is he about to tell me?I stare into his pale-blues, and at my encouraging nod, he continues quietly. “I almost tattooed the wrong number.”
I blink, confusion dumping over me like a bucket of ice water. “What?”
