Page 181 of Hate Mates

NINE

Lochlan

Lourdez’s cold tears run down my neck as she collapses on my chest, her fingernails scraping at my neck as she clutches my coat.

I thought knowing the truth would make me feel better, but her admission makes me feel somehow worse.

I’d had my eyes on her for years and somehow never noticed the bruises. I never recognized the vacant look that she has right now as what it was. Dissociation or fear, maybe.

“My biggest regret was not telling my father to fuck off that day. In the courtroom, your eyes stayed on me the whole time, and the feeling I had at that moment wasworsethan any other.” She hiccups through her tears. “I wanted so much to give you what you needed. Freedom and I knew how to do it, and I was going to do it, but his hand held my leg, and I was just too scared. And I let you go down for something you hadn’t done so that he could get one over on your father and so I could avoid a bruise. And I never should have because my father—the person who was meant to protect me—allowed my abuser to go free by sending you to prison for it, and he was fine with that. The only guy who had ever tried to protect me was you. And I chose my dad andhis abuse. And I never should have done that because I wanted to choose you, Lochlan Drake.”

Holding her close, I feel both our hearts crack, and I almost tell her to do it now.

Choose me now.

Anger twists to sadness. I can’t be mad at her. I can’t be anything other than that same person that I was three and a half years ago—the person she desperately needs.

“Are you gonna hate me forever?” Her flushed, tear-stained face stares up at me.

I take off my glasses, placing them on the passenger seat. “I don’t hate you.”

“How can you not?”

“Because I can’t imagine what your life was like. What it is like.”

Messages on her phone flash in my head. It’s not just the ones from Amelie I’d seen. Her Dad has slated her, me, and my entire family, including my dying brother, multiple times since we’ve been here, freezing on the side of a lonely road.

I could hate him for that.

But any anger towards Lourdez melted away when she admitted her wrongdoings to the people who needed to hear them most—my family and me. All that’s left now are the feelings that were there prior: the interest, attraction, the need to protect her.

Her phone buzzes, interrupting all my thoughts. A call is coming in, flashing on her screen.

“Can I answer that?”

“No, because I’ll suffer when I?—”

“Let me answer and just follow along withmy lies.”

“Hi.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Your daughter is busy. We’re on our way to see my brother, as you’re aware, judging by the messages you’ve been sending asking if he’s dead yet so she can come home and clean, he’s extremely unwell. Lourdez will not be home today or any other day, and we don’t wanna hear from you again. Do not call or text this number.”

“She’s my daughter. You’re nothing. You can’t keep her from me.”

“It’s a bit late to play the caring father when she’s covered in fucking bruises. You didn’t respect her as your daughter, but you will as my fucking girl, and you will stay the fuck away from us if you want to avoid choking on your teeth. We’ve missed enough time because of you. Yes, I know. I know fucking everything. So, stay the fuck away from us.” I hang up before he can reply and ignite the anger that rushes down my nostrils because it already burns enough.

And I’m done being angry.

Life is too fucking short.

“I have to go back there?—”

“No. You don’t have to stay there.” Did I really just offer her a place to stay? Yeah, and I’d do it again, that need to protect her still niggling at me. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to share a blanket at my place, assuming we ever get off this road. I have a spare room.”

“Do I have to stay in it?” she asks so innocently that I’m not sure I heard her right. “I kinda like this. The cuddling.”

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