Page 63 of Catcher

“Stop,” he growls. “Stop making excuses for him. Stop protecting someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

The word cuts through me.

Hearing someone say it out loud hurts because it’s true.

“He meant to use you,” Catcher says, each word clipped. “And he did.”

Shame rolls off me in waves, and my face heats.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A year,” I admit.

“A year,” he repeats, disbelief lacing his tone. “And you’ve been carrying this alone?”

I nod, throat tight.

Catcher exhales slowly, forcing himself not to explode. “This isn’t something you fix by ignoring it.”

“I know,” I whisper.

He steps closer again, voice low and deadly calm. “If your brother is desperate enough to wreck your life financially, I want to know what else he’s willing to do.”

Fear curls in my stomach.

Catcher’s gaze locks onto mine. “You should’ve told someone.”

I meet his stare, exhausted and raw. “I didn’t want to drag anyone into it.”

His expression softens just a fraction. “Too late.”

And I know, with sudden, terrifying clarity, that whatever comes next, Catcher won’t let this go.

“What time are your parents expecting you?” he asks.

“Noon.”

Catcher jerks his chin. “Go get ready. I’m taking you.”

I go to open my mouth in protest, but stop short when he gives me a look that says I have no choice.

Thirty minutes later, I walk into the living room to see Catcher ready and waiting. He is wearing black jeans and a faded tee. He must have taken a quick shower because I notice his hair is still damp.

“I’m taking you to your parents,” he says, already grabbing his boots by the door as if this is settled.

“I can drive myself,” I argue, grabbing my purse from the coffee table. My emotions are all over the place from everything he dragged into the open earlier, and the last thing I need is him breathing the same space as me.

He stops short and turns toward me. “No,” he says in a flat tone.

I follow him outside anyway, irritation buzzing under my skin. When I reach for my keys out of habit, he holds out his hand.

“I’ll drive.”

I hesitate. “Catcher⁠—”

“Keys, Ruby.”

There’s no edge to his voice, no raised tone. Just expectation, like he already knows I’m going to give in.