Page 50 of Offside Devil

“To tell you I put him down for a nap?” I snort. “Why did you hire me if you think I’m so incompetent?”

“I don’t think?—”

“Then you must not trust me with Aiden,” I cut in before he can get going. “Either you think I’m incompetent or you don’t trust me. Those are the only theories I can come up with for why you’ve been micromanaging me since the moment I started here.”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t have much experience with kids.”

“Then why would you hire me?!” I fling my hands wide. “If you think I need constant supervision, that makes you a shitty dad for hiring me in the first place.”

Zane drops his hockey bag on the kitchen floor and takes a step towards me. Trauma kicks in immediately, animating my limbs and thoughts like I’m just a stupid, mindless puppet at the mercy of the demons of my past.

He’s going to hit me.

I took it too far and he’s going to hit me.

By the time he takes his next step, I’ve twisted away from him. My right arm is shielding my face. I’m in a braced position, ready for whatever Zane is going to do to me.

It’s quiet for one second.

For two.

I peek over my arm and Zane is staring at me, wide-eyed, like I’m the one who slapped him.

He drags a hand down his face. “Did you think…?” His voice trails off and my cheeks flame.

I straighten up and lower my arm.

Of course Zane wouldn’t hit me. Actually, he hit someone else for me. That was a new one. But one hero moment isn’t enough to fix the fucked up wiring in my brain.

If I’m going to stay here, I can’t live on edge like this. I can’t balance on this knife’s edge, trying to do everything perfectly. I won’t tiptoe around the condo waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” I croak.

His eyes flare wide. They’re almost sapphire. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

Instead, he just stares at me. I wish I could hold his gaze and maintain the silence until he breaks first, but a metric fuckton of adrenaline was just dumped in my veins and I can’t hide the shaking for much longer.

“You can’t—” I swallow, blowing out a nervous breath. “You have to treat me with respect. We’re in a weird situation, but my self-respect isn’t for sale. If you’re going to treat me like shit, I’m going to leave.”

His mouth snaps shut. A muscle in his jaw jumps. Seconds pass and I’m about to storm down the hallway—either to pack my bags or collapse on my bed in tears, I haven’t decided yet—when he finally speaks.

“I think you and I should?—”

Take it to the mat?

Fuck out this tension?

Sit down and have a mature conversation like adults?

A million possibilities flicker through my brain before Zane finally finishes his sentence.

“—only communicate over text,” he concludes. “Unless absolutely necessary.”

It isn’t disappointment that twists around my heart. No, it’s the inevitability of it all.

People hurt me or they leave. Those are the only options. Forget friendship or mutual respect or, God forbid, a meaningful relationship. I’m not worth the trouble. I’ve never been worth the trouble.

And pretty boy Zane Whitaker, of all fucking people, just confirmed it.

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