“You’re not in the middle of anything.”
“Then why does it feel like I am? You took me down there on my first night in town, had me work the bar, and then expect me not to have questions?”
He drags a hand through his hair. “Can’t you see I’m trying to keep you safe? This whole situation’s ridiculous. You aren’tsupposedto ask questions, Genevieve, and now your dad—”
His mouth snaps shut like he’s physically biting back the words.
The sudden silence wraps around my middle and squeezes. “What about my dad?”
“Forget I said anything.”
I follow him, my heart pounding. “You said there was nothing to worry about.”
“Gin. You have to trust me on this.”
“Trust you?” I cross my arms. “If my dad’s in trouble, you better tell me, Art. The man I moved here for wouldn’t keep secrets like this.”
“He defends criminals! You think his life isn’t dangerous? Quit being so fucking naive, Genevieve.”
I rear back like he’s slapped me.
“Shit.” He runs a hand over his face and then grabs myshoulders, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry, baby. Can’t you see how badly I want you to be safe? That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and prying into things like this? It won’t end well.”
“You won’t even tell me what ‘this’ is.” I rip out of his hold. “Whoareyou?”
We stand there, breathing hard, the pasta water boiling over on the stove behind me.
I turn and shut off the burner, my hands shaking.
“You should go,” I say. “Lance needs you.”
“Baby.” His eyes are glassy, and he presses his lips together.
But I can’t worry about his feelings right now. Not when he’s ripping up mine.
“Go.”
He hesitates, hovering behind me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he finally says. “I love you, Gin.”
I don’t turn around.
His footsteps cross the apartment, and the door clicks shut behind him.
The silence swells like a living thing.
His words echo in my skull, over and over, until I can’t stand the sound of my own thoughts.
I dump the pasta into the colander without bothering to plate it. I’m not hungry anymore.
Art wants me to trust him. He wants me to stay in the dark like a good little girlfriend and let him handle everything.
But I’m so fucking tired of being handled. It’s all he’s done since I moved here, and I’m not this girl.When did I become this girl?
I grab my jacket and walk out the door.
The Round Table is almost empty when I pull into the back lot, typical of a Sunday night.
