Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“But?” I say when he doesn’t go on. I can’t stand the tension for much longer.
“We can’t do this.” It’s like saying this is causing him pain. Veins bulge in his neck. “I have to try to get him on the right path, but you need to know something, Molly. The things he said to you—my son—were wrong. You didn’t deserve it, and I have to know…”
He trails off and sits down, resting his head in his hands. I want to go to him, place my hand on his shoulder, and squeeze supportively, but he just said we can’t do this. Whatever we were building here, it’s over. I was right at the start of the date when I thought that telling him would be the end.
Finally, he looks up at me. He’s got that familiar fierceness in his eyes. He’s ready for more fighting, more pain. “Did he ever lay a hand on you?”
“No,” I tell him. “Sometimes, he’d look at me, but no.”
“Look at you, how?” Duke asks sharply.
“Like maybe he wanted to, but he never did.”
“How is the world so goddamn unfair?” he snaps, speaking more to himself than to me. “Jesus Christ, I have to fix this. I have to fix him. It’s time I did something drastic.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You heard what I said in the bar about killing my dad, right?”
I swallow. His tone has become frighteningly cold and determined. “Yeah, I thought maybe you were bluffing.”
This is a lie. It felt true when he said it, but his intensity is freaking me out. He stares at me coldly. “No, I did it. I beat my own father to death. He was a drunk asshole. He’d beat on my mom every chance he got. Then, just after my fourteenth birthday, I went out with my buddies and got way too wasted. I was wild back then. I’d just started training.”
I can’t take the pain in his voice, but when I stand up, he shakes his head at me. Stay there. The message in his eyes is unmistakable. I sit down, feeling like I’ve overstepped, but this entire thing has been one giant overstep.
“When I got home,” he continues, “my dad was on top of my mom—the same old bullshit. I pulled him off her. I hit him once. Then again. Then I kept going, and he fell. He hit his head on the floor. He died right then. The sick part was I was happy about it. I enjoyed it. There’s something wrong with me. There’s a darkness in me few people understand.”
I understand, I want to say, but it’s clear he doesn’t want me to be there for him. He doesn’t want me at all.
“I’m so sorry you had to do that,” I murmur.
“It’s what drove me to become a fighter. When the police ruled it self-defense, I threw myself into training. It was the only thing that mattered to me. It was the only thing I could truly focus on without disappearing into the darkness. Ryan never had that kind of motivation. He’s had it way, way too fucking easy.”
He looks up at me, his expression deadly serious. I think I can see some regret in his intense eyes, but I’m not sure. Maybe I’ve been misreading signals since this began, but why did he say he’d never forgive himself if something happened to me? I was sure there was real, raw, primal emotion in his voice.
“We’re going to have to end this here,” he says miserably.
“After…”
“After what?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“After what?” he says, firmer.
“I said it doesn’t matter,” I reply just as firmly. “I was going to say something, and then I changed my mind. Okay? God.”
He stares at me, triggering something inside me, a response of pure anger. Maybe it’s pent-up pressure from, well, everything. Or perhaps it comes from those hungry signals deep inside, telling me I belong with this man I tricked and lied to. This man I’m clearly never going to be with.
“I was going to say after you kissed me and got all steamy, then you tell me you want nothing to do with me.”
“I know,” he sighs heavily. “I never said I didn’t want to be with you, but how can we, Molly? We can’t. Not if we look at it objectively. It’s too strange. It’ll never work.”
I almost argue, telling him I don’t care if it’s strange, telling him I don’t care if he thinks it will never work. I’m not going to beg for this. It was a mistake to begin with.
Quickly standing, I walk toward the door, but Duke is there fast, blocking my way with his broad build. “Let me give you a ride home.”
“No,” I snap, almost on the verge of tears again. “I can get a cab or something. Just… please.”