Page 37 of Sinful Attraction

“I get that. I’m not trying to piss you off, but I’m kind of the expert on family members doing shit they’re not supposed to. Even if they have a history of bullshit, you never expect them to do something really awful until they fucking do. Like... like finding out my dad creeped on your mom.”

He looks at me, a little embarrassed. “Okay, yeah, I get it. That was probably hard to hear.”

“Yeah, it was. But it was true. I mean... I know you think your family is so much better than mine--”

His eyebrows go up. “I never said anything—”

“You don’t have to. I know what people think about my family. My parents are obnoxious and aggressive. They’ve been driving me up the wall my whole life and embarrassing me on top of it.”

“Doesn’t mean I look down on you,” he corrects a little stiffly.

“Michael,” I say, kindly but firmly. “Thank you, but that’s not my point, okay? I’m saying that betrayal doesn’t just happen in families with bad reputations. If we find something—”

“Let’s just wait and see when and if we find it,” he cuts me off firmly.

I huff in exasperation. We’re back to this, and it’s starting to piss me off. “Okay. But let’s not ignore any evidence.”

“You don’t have evidence. You have a theory that fits the smattering of facts we have so far,” he grumbles in a low, implacable voice that worries and aggravates me at the same time.

“Yes, and it’s a working theory that will change if the facts change. Will your point of view adjust as well?”

He gives me an annoyed look. “I’m not scared of the truth. I just know my family.”

“I really hope they’re all as good as you think they are,” I say, getting increasingly uncomfortable. “I just worry about what happens if one of them turns out to disappoint you.”

“You need to drop this,” he snaps, and I feel my fists clench.

“Drop what? I’m only saying—”

“Yeah, I heard you. It’s still not the only possibility, and it’s less of a possibility than you think. Not every family is full of fucked-up people like yours is!”

Everything stops. It’s like being slapped in the face. I knew I was getting too vulnerable to him, and now, with those words out of his mouth, I’m paying for it.

I stare at him. The look on my face registers, and the anger fades slowly from his expression. Not all of it, but enough to leave room for regret. “Oh, fuck, Arya, I’m sorry—”

“You know what?” I say in a voice that’s breathless with anger and hurt. “If there’s one thing I’m fucking sick of in my life, it’s having to pay for my father’s mistakes. Do you think it’s easy having my mother always taking her anger at him out on me? Or the antiquated rules? Or how little he gives a shit?"

“Yes, fine, I’m from an abusive family, and you’re not. Congratulations.” My eyes are getting blurry from tears, and suddenly, I want to get as far away from him as possible. “That doesn’t make your family perfect, and it sure as fuck doesn’t mean I’m too broken to be right.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—” he starts, but I hold up a hand.

“You said what you fucking said. Now, I need to go get some space and think about things. You go ahead and go through the rest of those records and do whatever you need to do. I’ll pick back up with you when I don’t want to fucking slap you.”

And that’s what I do. I say goodbye as calmly as I can, get my things, and walk away. It is foggy out as I drive away, with no idea where I’m going. Not back to my parents’ place. Somewhere I could think.

Somewhere nobody could hurt me.

Chapter 17

Michael

Once Arya walks out, I stare numbly at my laptop screen for a good 15 minutes, my stomach a knot of shame, self-disgust, and worry.Why the fuck did I say that?

It was probably just a loss of temper. I lashed out at what I knew would be a sore spot for her because I was pissed and defensive of my family. Bottom line: It doesn’t really matter why. I fucked up, and I know it.

She needs time to cool off. I need time to find a way to make this shit up to her. This shit, the earlier shit, all of it. I’m no longer worried about how she’ll make me pay for it all if I don’t make good. I’m worried about never seeing her again.

Her absence doesn’t just hurt my pride. It lingers. I feel it as I drink my way through four beers, spend some time exercising in my home gym, and finally dive deep into the security records we were going over. But even then, as I finally force myself to do something useful, that emptiness lingers.

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