Page 9 of Cruel Steps

His words were everything I wanted to hear, but the fear outweighed the lust.

He dropped the towel into the hamper, walked over, and grabbed me by the hips to pull my body into his. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.” He dropped kisses on my neck, and my body melted.

The reminder of who he was overruled my heart, and I jerked out of his arms and pushed him away. Hope could never find out.

“Sorry, but I don’t date. Especially jocks,” I added when he looked ready to launch into a spiel to convince me. His face hardened, hurting my heart, but I knew it was for the best. If Hope knew I’d slept with her brother, she’d kill me.

“Message received,” he gritted through his teeth. Holden picked up his shoes and scanned the room once before heading to the door. I trailed behind him all the way.

“It was great,” I said, my words leaving me now that I needed them.

“Yep. Take care, Emerson.” I suddenly missed his nickname for me, and pain lanced my heart. His eyes scanned me over before opening the door and leaving, taking all the oxygen with him. I fell to my knees, tears pricking my eyes, but I held back the sob.

I knew it was the right choice; it sucked all the same.

Just another thing Hope Adler had stolen from me.

CHAPTER

FOUR

EMERSON

Two Months Later (Mid July)

The musical notes of “Lose Control” played through the outdoor speakers, and I groaned into my arms at the sound of Teddy Swims’ baritone voice. Why did I have this song on my playlist again?

Oh, that’s right! I’m a masochist!

Goosebumps littered my skin, and I debated whether masochism or avoidance would win out today. Some days I could stand the torture, relishing in the misery and heartbreak I felt every time I heard this song and remembered that night at the club. Other times, it felt like someone was stabbing me in my ears. I mostly avoided the song, which, of course, meant it played everywhere I went this summer.

Not that I’d gone to a lot of places.

Oak Hills wasn’t safe to explore, so I had to be strategic about where I went alone. Mostly, I traveled from my bedroom to the pool lounger that had become my second bed this summer. The crinkling of a wrapper emphasized my claim as I rolled off the large pool bed and stood. Pulling the shiny wrapper off my skin, I shielded my eyes from the sun and hobbled to the pool bar where my phone lay hooked to the speakers.

Skipping the song, I leaned against the bar and scanned my notifications. Taylor and the rest of our dance crew had texted me numerous times to ask when I’d be back at Brighton. The sense of dread I’d had since returning home surged, so I flipped my phone over and ignored them.

Avoidance for the win today!

Rubbing my temples, I groaned at the reminder of what my father had shared upon my arrival.

“I messed up, Pumpkin. I invested in something, and it didn’t pan out.”

Didn’t pan out was an understatement. We were broke. He’d lost almost everything.

His savings—gone.

His retirement—gone.

My college fund—gone.

The house, our cars, and a small trust I received when I turned twenty-five were the only things unscathed.

That was the day my father changed in my eyes. I no longer saw him as the perfect hero I’d always believed him to be, but a fallible human. I didn’t know which was worse—being broke or losing that image of my dad.

Maybe I was naïve to still view my dad that way, but he was all I had. My mom had died from an aneurysm when I was thirteen. She was there one morning and gone the next. What had once been a vibrant and happy home became dull and broken.

My father and I were both quiet by nature, and without the liveliness of my mother, our world became two-dimensional. Neither of us knew how to fill the hole her death caused, and we fell into a haze of grief we were unable to get out of. Leaning on each other, we slowly crawled our way out of the grief hole.

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