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Mike shakes his head. Then, with a flick of his hand, he pulls my towel off.

“Jeez, Mike. What are you—” I grab the towel from the floor and hustle to the door, pushing it closed.

“I told you she’s eating breakfast.”

“Right, and never in history has she gotten full early and come looking for one of us.” It’s not daily, but it’s close. Getting calories into my kid is a constant source of worry.

Scowling, Mike reaches for me. I won’t stop him. I never do. I don’t know… I don’t understand it exactly, aside from knowing I crave the way he touches me. Maybe part of me thinks it’s something it isn’t, even when the rest of me knows better.

When I’m tethered to Mike is the only time I don’t feel like I’m clinging to life with the tips of my fingers, desperate not to slip.

But when his finger trails over the fresh marks on my hip, I can’t help but flinch. His scrutiny makes my heart beat fast, and not in a good way.

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t lie to me. I know what these are, and so do you.”

But I can only tolerate the intensity of his stare for a moment more before I pull away, sliding into a warm pair of pajama bottoms. “Then there’s no need to point them out, is there?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Why do you do it, Dean? You’d do anything in the world for that little girl out there, but you keep hurting yourself.”

Because I can’t handle the constant fear, and it gives me a few seconds of quiet. Because sometimes you aren’t here to do it for me.

“I’m always careful.”

“You’re opening yourself up with a blade on purpose. That’s dangerous, even if you’re careful. What if Ella found out? Saw you bleeding?”

I can’t meet his eyes now. “It’s hardly anything. And I do it where she can’t see.”

“Mm. Hmm.”

Funny, they’re not even really words. Just sounds. Judgy sounds that tell me all I need to know about what Mike thinks of me. As if he hasn’t spent every day of Ella’s life letting me know.

His expression turns from angry to something almost sincere. “Hand over the razor blades, okay? Please. This time I’m the one begging, Dean. You can’t keep doing this.”

Oh. God. The pain in his voice almost knocks me down. If I knew what to say, I think I’d even apologize. He’s never sounded that way before. Not with me.

Talk about confusing.

“I don’t have them. The client had some in his medicine cabinet. I don’t even do it much anymore. Was feeling overwhelmed, is all.”

“Was the client⁠—”

“The client was fine.” Honestly, he was. Nice. A little too nice. Hard to believe a man like that raised Simon’s boyfriend, who honestly intimidates the heck out of me. “Sometimes… I don’t know. Feels like I want to climb out of my own skin.”

He presses his lips together. A mix of emotions plays over his face, too fast for me to read them.

“This isn’t the solution.”

“Really? Eff you, Mike. I’m not that stupid. Every day I wonder how I’m going to survive. You’ve got no room to tell me how to get through it.”

He tips his head sideways. The way his eyes soften, I can’t handle that right now. Over the years I’ve taken anything he’s handed me, but I can’t take his pity.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you, Dean?”

I shake my head. We both know I’m in over my head.

He sighs. “Why won’t you let me help you?”