Page 59 of The Trouble with Players

“Because you’re the one who’s unhappy here,” he said.

I walked over and crossed my arms, leaning my hip against the island beside him. “So let me get this straight. Now you care if I’m happy or not?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re the most self-centered man I’ve ever met.”

He slapped me across the face.

The hit came hard and fast and my entire face flew to the side, pain crackling though my cheek like ice. I cupped my cheek, unable to believe he’d laid a hand on me.

“What the fuck?!” Crew rushed into the room and moved to my side. “Are you okay?”

I was too stunned to respond.

His eyes cut to my father’s. “I don’t care who you are, only a weak man lays a hand on a woman. And, this is your fucking daughter.”

I turned and hurried out of the room with my cheek pulsing and unshed tears glazing my eyes. I didn’t get far when I heard Crew’s voice in the kitchen.

“Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused her?!” he yelled.

“Leave it alone, Crew,” my father warned.

“She’s your kid. Get your shit together, man.” His voice lowered, and I had to strain to hear. “If you ever lay your hand on her again, I’ll break it.”

I hurried out of the house before Crew discovered me listening. I’d made it just around the corner from the gift shop when Crew called my name. I stopped and turned.

He jogged up to me. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to appear tougher than I truly felt in that moment.

With pain in his eyes, he lifted his hand and gently cupped my cheek that was still hot and throbbing.

“Don’t look so sad,” I said.

“I wanted to slam him right through the fucking wall.”

“I can handle it,” I assured him.

“You shouldn’t have to.” He stared into my eyes, and I think he was waiting for me to break down.

“I didn’t panic,” I explained. “I held it together. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

I leaned into his hand, needing the connection more than I realized. “Because of you.”

“But what if I hadn’t been there?” he asked.

“But you were,” I said, wanting him to know the huge role he played in helping me. I wrapped my arms around his waist and dropped my head to his chest. His familiar sandalwood scent clung to him as he wrapped me in his arms, and held me right there on the sidewalk as tourists walked around us.

“I don’t think it’s healthy to have to carry everything you’ve been dealing with,” he said.

“I told you. I held it together. It means I’m learning to manage my attacks.”

“I just think…I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to someone.”

I pulled back and looked at him. “Are you saying you don’t want to be the one I lay all my problems on?”

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