Page 152 of Knot Their Starlet

“You can say it,” I sniff, wiping furiously at my cheeks. “Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking,” he says slowly, his words measured. “That you’ve been managing that… managing your mother… for a very long time.”

There’s something about his words that stops me in my tracks.

They make me feel raw and exposed, more vulnerable than I’ve felt in front of an alpha before. But at the same time, he’s absolutely right.

“Y—yeah,” I say, rubbing at my chest and trying to ease the ache there. “She’s not always like that. She just—she gets scared when things change. She’s got good reasons to be, though. But there’s been a lot of change recently. She’s been that way as long as I can remember.”

My brows draw down with frustration. Why is my knee-jerk reaction always to defend her?

Everett is quiet for a moment.

“My father was the same way,” he says finally. His voice takes on a quality I’ve never heard from him before. It falls a little flat, almost like what he’s sharing is painful to recount. “Every emotion was always at full volume. His and the way he perceived ours. For a very long time, everything became about managing him.”

I blink at him. Well, that’s not what I expected. It sheds some light on why he was the one to text me. He’s had experience with these kinds of spirals.

“There’s a name for what my father had,” Everett continues, still looking out of the window. “I won’t put a label on your mother because I’m not qualified to, and it’s not my place. But I do recognize the pattern.”

“So—so you’re saying you think something is wrong with my mom’s head?”

“You say she has good reason to be the way she is, right?”

“I mean, yeah, she had this terrible childhood, and then everything that went down with my dad,” I mumble, picking at my cuticles. I wince when I accidentally draw blood. I haven’t been using my hand cream recently.

Everett reaches over and grasps my hand, stopping me. The touch sends a shiver running down my spine.

“Trauma sometimes rewires people’s brains,” Everett says.

“Oh,” I say, swallowing hard. “What happened to your dad?”

He meets my gaze for a fleeting second. I manage to catch a glimpse of raw, unresolved pain that makes my chest hurt before he turns away.

“He couldn’t live in his own head,” Everett says. “Eventually, he stopped trying. I was sixteen.”

I cling to his hand desperately. Grateful I have some sort of touch to anchor me.

A horrified gasp I can’t stifle escapes before I can swallow it down.

“I—I’m terrified of that,” I say, my words barely audible. “That if I fuck up badly enough, if I’m not there, or if I push back too hard, she’ll⁠—”

I can’t say it.

“I know,” he says, squeezing my hand.

“She’s threatened to do it before,” I rasp.

“And that’s a form of abuse, Andi,” he murmurs softly. “How early did she start doing that?”

“I remember the first big fight we had was when I was eleven. We—we were driving to some appointment or something, and she threatened to throw herself out of the car because I wasn’t agreeing with her.”

I peek up through my lashes, lingering shame from the memory threatening to drag me under.

His jaw grinds as he stares out of the window.

“She should never have put that burden on you, let alone when you were that young,” he says, his voice low. “Nothing you could ever have done would have warranted that response. It’s not your fault.”

I let his words wash over me like a soothing balm. I don’t believe him. How could I?