Page 58 of Bound By Threads
Just like that,she’s gone as Oscar leads her back into the club, his arm slung over her shoulder.
I try to tell myself this is what she needs, but the feeling of my heart tearing in two has my legs jerking to follow her.
I’ll give her tonight. I can acknowledge that I was an asshole, and she has Oscar to comfort her.
Tomorrow though… Tomorrow we’ll talk abouteverything.
It’s time Lottie knows exactly how I feel about her.
Chapter29
Oscar
Iguide her through the backstage corridor, my arm wrapped around her shoulder as if I can shield her from everyone’s eyes that follow us.
The moment we step into the changing room, our boss is already there waiting. Arms crossed, eyes burning with fury.
“What the fuck was that?” he snaps, his hands signing along wildly.
Lottie flinches, and something primal unfurls in my chest. I step in front of her immediately, blocking her from his view, squaring my shoulders as I meet his glare with my own.
“You don’t talk to her like that,”I sign firmly, each gesture sharp with barely restrained anger.“I’m taking her home. If you want her back on this stage, you better have an apology ready when she returns.”
He opens his mouth, but I narrow my eyes, and he snaps it shut. I don’t wait for his response. I turn and head to her locker, ignoring the way he watches us, then storms out.
Lottie doesn’t say anything, just sinks onto a nearby bench, the tension in her limbs making her look even smaller than she is. I hand her the pile of neatly folded clothes from her locker.
She shrugs off Archer’s hoodie, the oversized fabric sliding from her frame. My jaw tightens as I get a glimpse of the outfit she wore tonight—black bikini top, matching thong—my mouth goes dry.
She changes without hesitation, pulling on her worn jeans and the soft blue long-sleeved top. The hoodie goes back on last. It swallows her whole, hiding all her soft curves that I love.
She doesn’t look up as she sinks back onto the bench.
“You good?”I sign, crouching to her level.
She nods once, but the motion is stiff. Her hands twitch in her lap, her fingers brushing over the frayed edge of her sleeve like she’s grounding herself.
I don’t push her. I never do. I just offer my hand again for her to take. Her soft hand slips into mine, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
* * *
The apartment isdark when I let us in.
A single lamp near the couch casts a soft, golden hue across the worn hardwood floors. I step back, letting her walk in first, and my chest tightens when her eyes scan the space.
It’s small.
Just a single room that barely fits the twin bed shoved into the corner, a couch that’s too low to be comfortable, and a kitchen that’s more of a suggestion than an actual cooking space. The only decoration comes from a battered bookshelf I pulled out of a dumpster and patched up with some wood filler, half filled with old paperbacks and a few photos of my team when everything felt simpler.
I close the door behind me and lean back against it, heart thudding with something I don’t know what to name. I see the moment she takes in how little there is, the silence stretching between us.
“I know it’s not much,”I sign slowly.“It’s kind of pathetic, actually.”
Her brow creases, her hands flying as she signs,“Don’t say that.”
I stare at her, surprised. There’s no pity or judgment in her eyes… just understanding.“I’m not judging you, Oscar,”she signs again.“I used to live off ketchup packets when there was no food in the house.”
I blink, startled.
