Page 140 of Wicked Serve

“You never really talked to her about your dad. I think if you did, it would help you. Really help you.”

“You went behind my back to talk to my mother.”

“Don’t say it like that.” She twists her hands in her sweater. My hockey jersey, the gift I gave her. I’m suddenly aware of the leather bracelet on my wrist. It feels tighter than usual. Constrictive. “I’m just—I’m trying to help you not ruin your life.”

“I’m not ruining my life.”

“You are.” Her eyes look as fierce as they did on New Year’s, when I couldn’t keep the panic at bay and she saw my breakdown from start to finish. “And I don’t care if you’re mad at me for saying that, because it’s the truth. You don’t have to prove to anyone that you’re not like your dad. We already know. All of us, your mom included.”

“You have no idea what my mother thinks. There’s a reason we haven’t— I can’t believe you would...” I trail off, shaking my head. I rub my chest again; it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. If I’m not careful, I’m going to puke.

Isabelle reaches for my arm, but I shake her off. I can’t. I can’t do this.

“Nik,” she pleads. “I’m trying to help. You encourage me, you remind me my passions are important—why won’t you do that for yourself?”

I struggle to keep down the rush of emotion, but it’s building. It’s building, and I can’t fucking stop it. I’m spinning out, and like hell am I going to let Isabelle be collateral. Goodbye to my father, goodbye to hockey—she doesn’t understand that I have to do this, I have to—

“You need to go.” I get as far away as I can in the small room, clenching my trembling fists and pressing them against my stomach. My shoulder aches, my chest aches, my goddamn soul aches. Isabelle blinks, her expression shuttering.

I never should have dragged her into this.

She pulls herself together. “What are you talking about?”

“Go.” My voice breaks on the word. It’s a struggle to force anything out, much less speak in English. “I don’t—I can’t—”

She takes a couple steps in my direction. “I don’t want to leave you alone right now.”

“And I don’t want to hurt you!”

She freezes. “What? You’d never do that.”

My heart lurches as I imagine it. I feel like a monster, hell-bent on destruction. This close to cracking open. I shake my head shortly, turning away from her.

She rests her hand against my back, in between my shoulder blades. “Nik—”

“I mean it.” My voice comes out as a snarl as I twist around. I can’t control anything right now. Not my voice, not my breathing, not my body. I’m burning from the inside out, and if Isabelle gets caught in the inferno... “Just go. Now.”

“You’d never hurt me,” she says stubbornly.

“I don’t trust—”

“I trust you,” she interrupts, her voice gaining steam. “What about in bed? You make it hurt, but you’re not hurting me.”

“It’s not the same as this.” Never the same, because I’m not panicking when we’re in bed. This is the furthest thing from that. It’s skirting right on the edge of the rage I can’t shake. The inheritance from my father that I’ll never be able to distance myself from, no matter what I tell myself.

“Why not? You trust yourself then, trust yourself now. You’re not a violent person. You’re not your father. I promise.”

“Isabelle.”

“I know the man I fell in love with,” she whispers. A tear slips down her cheek.

“Please, solnishko. If I did something I couldn’t take back, I’d never forgive myself. Never.”

She flinches at my harsh tone. I nearly heave. I turn to the wall again.

Such a coward. A selfish fucking coward.

But if she goes, I’m protecting her.

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