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Harris stands to match my stance, arms outstretched to where I’m huffing like an angry bull.

“I should leave,” I snarl out.

Harris shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want to. Toren, just listen—”

“You don’t understand—”

“Toren, love,” Sahara says quietly, almost hesitant. “We want you here. We want you to—”

“No one fucking wants me,” I roar, angrily swiping at the tears wetting my cheeks. “No one wanted me when I was a kid. LaBlanc never wanted me, and I tried really fucking hard. I don’t even fucking want me now. So just stop—”

The rushing of the world quiets at the press of Harris’s hand to my shoulder. Then, his other palm, pressing to my cheek as he tilts my head to meet his gaze. His eyes are shining, signs of his own crying evident.

“Listen to me, Toren,” Harris says, voice quiet. Sincere. “If I’d known you then, as a kid, I would’ve wanted you. We would’ve loved to raise you—to call you our son. We would’ve wanted you then and we do now.”

My head is already shaking, still choking on sobs. “I’m not—”

“You are. I love you, son. We love you.”

Sahara is still right at my side, eyes wide and hands shaking. But not because she’s afraid of me. Because she wants to comfort me, always has, and I’ve never let her.

Everything you touch, you ruin. Hockey, Lily, them—

My head is rushing as I back away, jerking out of his grip. I shake my head and turn, grabbing my helmet and keys.

I don’t look back.

Chapter 55

Lily

There’s someone in my bathroom.

I can hear them moving around, opening and closing drawers, so I quickly look around my room for some type of weapon, settling on the only thing I can find: a broken hanger protruding from my little trash can.

Arching it above my head, I wrench open the door only to find Toren Kane, slumped against the countertop, holding a bottle of antiseptic and surrounded by bloodied tissues.

He spots me with a smirk, just the side of his lips twisting up. “A hanger? Please don’t tell me that was your weapon of choice. Were you going to hook me to death or beat me with it?”

Dropping it behind my back, I let it clatter to the floor with faux innocence—which only lasts mere seconds before I’m darting over to him, hands hovering.

“What happened?”

He elbows me back gently. “Relax. I’m fine. Just fell off my bike.”

I blanch.

“Your motorcycle? While it was moving?”

“No, Lily. I tipped over on it stationary. Like a domino.” He shakes his head but ruffles my hair briefly. Affectionately. “Yes, while it was moving. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

I don’t ask what he’s doing here, why he came here of all places instead of a hospital, before grabbing his hand and dragging him to my bed.

“Lie down.”

He’s strangely compliant, which makes me more nervous that he’s in some serious pain. Sitting on my knees at his side, I help him pull his shirt all the way off, hating the way he winces at every movement.

“Oh my god.”