Page 83 of Collided

I roll my eyes as I take a seat beside him on the couch. “I’m not a softie.”

Heat crawls up my neck as I think about it.

“You like her.”

I glare. “I don’t like her. How many times—”

“You’re turning red, Heath.” He folds his arms and smirks arrogantly.

I don’t think I can deny it anymore.Fuck it. I’m done lying.

Leaning over my knees, I hang my head low. “There’s something fucking wrong with me. Whenever I’m near her I can’t seem to pull away. Her voice. Fuck. It does something to me. There’s also the instinct to protect her because I know someone’s hurting her.”

“You mentioned that to me before. Why do you think that?”

I think of lying to him. It won’t help given things might get worse. I’ll need help to bury a body. He needs to be by my side.

Looking him dead in the eye, I say, “You can’t tell Marie.”

Sebastian stiffens. “You know I can’t do that. I’m always honest with her.”

“I’m not telling you to lie to her. I’m just saying don't mention it to her. That’sdifferent.”

“It’s the same to me,” he replies curtly.

Times like these I want to strangle him.

“It’s important, Bash. You know how Marie is. She won’t think and jump headfirst and force Hope to tell her everything.” I take a deep breath. “Once I’m certain we’ll tell her.”

That’s the closest I can get him to agree to this. If I’m going after that person who’s hurting Hope, I need my best friend with me.

He lets out a groan. “Fine. Now, tell me. I have to cook dinner as well.”

“What are you making tonight?”

“Pasta.”

He prepares a container of pasta and sets it on the stove. Getting two knives and a slicing board he hands me the vegetables.

“I’m not your fucking maid,” I grumble but get to work.

He chuckles as he joins me. “So, what is it? You’re creating so much suspense and haven’t said a word about it.”

“Someone is hurting Hope.”

Sebastian gives me a side-eye. “This again! What makes you say that?”

Images fill my mind. I refuse to focus on them knowing I’ll do something reckless.

“I’ve seen fucking marks on her. Someone choked her hard enough to leave bruises, and a few days later she had them on her wrist. I believe someone is physically abusing her. I just don’t know who that person is.” I let it all out.

“Are you sure?” he asks slowly as if he can’t grasp the gravity of the situation.

“I’msure. I know what I saw. Since Emery I’m…” my throat grows thick. I hate myself for getting weak. I can’t get past that tragedy—I never will. “Believe me.”

The pasta boils and he starts to make the sauce. Like robots, we work around the kitchen.

“We should tell Marie,” he mentions again.

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