Page 65 of Caught from Behind

I absorb the blow—and it’s a fucking blow—trying desperately to figure out what that means and what I should do and what?—

“Because part of me is scared that if I let you close…you’ll leave.”

The air that hits my bloodstream is heady, powerful, making me realize I was holding my breath for long enough for black to curl around the edges of my vision. “Why do you think that, chérie?”

A long pause, long enough for me to turn and wrench the handle of the shower off, to snag my boxer briefs from the floor and pull them on. I sink down onto the closed lid of the toilet and wait, watching her eyes close and open, her bottom lip tremble.

Hating that I’m here and not there.

Hating that I can’t hold her.

Hating that she’s in pain I can’t take away.

“Because they always leave.”

“Who?”

A delicate shrug. “Men.” A shake of her head when I go to speak. “I’ve deliberately kept things casual, kept my distance, kept a careful wall between my heart and the men I date to make sure no one can get close enough to hurt me.” A beat. “Because I can’t risk it. Not again.”

Dammit.

Her eyes are damp.

“Chérie—”

“But—” A breath. Her words steady because she’s Ella fucking Adler and she’s bright and brave and always keeps me on my toes. “But you’ve never just been another guy to me, Riggs. It’s why…”

“Why it hurt you when I turned you down.”

A nod.

Fuck.

Regret pools in my belly. “I didn’t want to, chérie. I?—”

“I know,” she says. “I know now why—” A breath. “Same as I know there’s something eating at you, something that’s going to cling to my brain as I try to sleep, make me worry until you’re home and I can hug you?—”

“My dad.” It just slips out.

Lie.

It’s impossible to hold anything back from this woman.

She goes very, very still. Then her expression softens. “What happened?”

“He wasn’t pleased about the loss and I didn’t want to hear his bullshit tonight. We got into a fight and so shit was said on both sides that we can’t take back and—” A throb starts in my temple just thinking about it. “And I’m so done with his bullshit.”

Not good enough.

Not tonight, certainly.

Not ever.

“I shouldn’t have answered,” I tell her, moving out of the bathroom and climbing into bed, glad when she follows my unspoken lead, walking to her front door, checking the lock, and then heading upstairs and into her bedroom, perching on the side of her mattress. “It’s not going to change. He’s always going to be…”

“Your dad.”

“Yeah. He’s always going to be my dad, and despite it all, I love the old bastard.” I sigh, scrub my hand over my face. “It was a shit game. And we got reamed from coach after the game for playing like shit. And there was that shit phone call.” I shake my head. “It was just…a shit day all around.”

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