Page 119 of Unsteady

He grabs the tiny duster and pan hanging off the wall, and starts to sweep up the glass, on his knees in front of me.

“Rhys,” I nearly shout it this time, my fury only ratcheting higher.

He shakes his head, before finally looking up at me, all dark chocolate eyes and a stern expression I rarely see from him. “No. I’m not going fucking anywhere. Not now, not ever. We’re going to talk about it all once this is done being dealt with. Now…” He shudders out a breath and rolls his massive, muscular shoulders. “I’m going to clean this glass up, because if you cut your fucking foot in here—even a goddamn nick, I don’t think I will be able to hold back from kicking his face in, okay?”

Every word is calm, almost serene, but I can see his own anger and fury beneath the surface. Like he’s holding it back because heknowsI can’t handle it.

“Okay,” I say, surprising myself.

My dad is nearly passed out already, leaned against the wall behind me, his crying now silent but for snores. I grab his ever-thinning frame and walk him into the living room, mindful of the glass, before tossing him onto the recliner and hoping he stays passed out.

“Rhys—”

He holds a hand up to me and looks over his shoulder. “Go upstairs, Sadie. Wait for me there. I need a minute.”

* * *

My skin feels like it’s going to start melting off, and I’m quite sure I’m on the verge of a psychotic break, when Rhys finally comes upstairs.

He closes the door behind himself, turning completely towards it and resting his forehead. It takes several long breaths before he turns around and walks the space of my room, avoiding my eyes. He places something on the desk—my purse, I realize, and my stomach clenches.

“Are you leaving?”

That makes him look up, before away again. I feel that panicked breathing rise, like I’m drowning and kicking for the surface. I want to grab onto his wrist and beg him, so I cross my arms to hold myself back.

“I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to prove to you and Oliver that I’m not leaving—and honestly, I don’t care what it is, I’ll do it.”

“Wait—” I stall, stunned and lost for words. “Then… then why won’t you look at me?”

Loathing, self-hatred. If you feed them enough they grow like irremovable vines. Mine grew thorns and wrapped around me as a kid, and no one has ever bothered to try and get in. Until now.

“Because, Sadie,” he grits out, a harsher voice than I’ve ever heard him use—especially with me. “If I look at you, I’m going to see that fear Iclearlysaw when you walked into the kitchen. I can’t get Oliver's face out of my brain, and now yours. And if I see that, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from confrontinghim.”

I don’t say anything. I barely breathe, as if any noise might ruin this moment.

You ruin everything. Look at him—the golden boy who’s never angry, suddenly furious. You take everything good and ruin it. Oliver’s next, already so angry. Liam won’t be far behind.

I close my eyes.

“Look at me,” he commands, and I do, instantly. He’s pacing at the foot of my bed, aglow in the muted light of my bedside lamp. He looks larger than life, he always has. Like what I imagine the children of ancient gods might have looked like, in some way that marked them different than mere mortals.

“I thought you were like me,” I whisper, the words pouring. “But you’re not. You’re… Rhys, you’re amazing. You’re everything to the people around you, even the ones who don’t know you. Out there? On campus or on the ice? You’re a shooting star out there. Fucking golden. And you might’ve been hurting when you met me, but… you’re getting better. And my life is going to be like this for a long time.

“Like—I’m in the middle of trying to win custody of the boys, trying to graduate early this semester so I can get a job and prove to a bunch of adults that I’m enough to take care of these boys. And I—” My voice chokes off, because I realize I might’ve been about to say something insane. “I care about you enough to see that you’re on your way to this massive, loud, amazing life.”

Rhys’ hand raises to stop me, and I do, easily. Partially because I don’twantto say what I was about to say. I selfishlywanthim, always, no matter that I’ll always be pulling him down or holding him back.

“I’m gonna say something now, Gray. And I need you to hear me. Really hear me, okay?”

I nod.

“I love you.” He breathes, and he’s smiling—both dimples glimmering. As if I didn’t just spill the mess of my life, first with my mother, then my drunk father trying to attack him—and now with my speech about how terrible it is for him to have me in his life.

My anger has never worked on Rhys; neither has my efforts to shove him away.

So I listen, my heart hammering so fast I’m sure it’ll sprout wings and soar from my chest.

“I love you. I love everything about you. I love your anger and your snark. I love the way you skate—like you’re full of fire, and it makes me remember when I fell in love with hockey. I love how you take care of your brothers, how you protect and love Aurora. I love the way you get that frustrated-confused look on your face—the same one you have right now—with the little divot between your brows.”

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