“You think you can serve me this cold shit and get away with it?”
She could barely move; his grip was so tight.
I exhale a shaky breath, staring at a spot on the floor.
You’re not there. It was just a nightmare.
But my mind refuses to leave it alone.
It never mattered what the excuse was. If dinner was late. The mashed potatoes were lumpy. Or he was in a bad mood. There was always a reason to hurt someone.
Every excuse was a ticket to violence.
And no matter how many times I stepped between them, no matter how many fists I took, I could never stop him.
The memory of his belt cracks through my skull like it still echoes in the walls of my childhood home.
The snap.
The sick satisfaction in his voice every time she cried while he beat me.
I’d take the beatings if it meant sparing her. But even that never guaranteed anything.
Some nights, we both bled.
I scrub a hand down my face. My chest is still tight.
Peyton’s the first person I’ve let this close inyears.
And the thought of hurting her, even by accident, is unbearable.
That’s why I need to put walls between us.
10
PEYTON
Morning sunlight spills across the guest room when I wake up.
For one disorienting second, I forget where I am.
Then the scent of cedar and Daltyn’s hoodie wraps around me, bringing everything rushing back.
I’m here at Daltyn’s cabin.
Warmth curls through my chest before reality crashes through my ankle the second I move.
“Ow,” I mutter. I glance down at it. Still swollen and throbbing. But somehow not enough to ruin the strange sense of hope humming beneath my skin this morning.
Which is ridiculous. This is temporary.
Still... It’s the safest I’ve felt in a long time.
I tug the oversized hoodie tighter around myself before carefully limping from the room.
Daltyn stands in the kitchen wearing gray sweats and a black t-shirt, broad shoulders tense while he stares down at his phone with a frown.
His gaze lifts the second he hears me.
