Page 33 of The Fence Between Us

Was this the time to be washing dishes? Perhaps not. Did doing something simple like rinsing suds off of clean dishes feel good, steadying? Absolutely. And Skye needed that right now. She needed anything that could ground her, remind her she wasn’tthatgirl anymore. She wasn’t waiting forthatboy to run away with her, to take her away from the house that had become a prison.

And Rabble was no longer that lonely boy who wouldn’t have been a match for the snake that was her father. That man could lie and cheat with the best of them, and he would do anything to get his way, including bribing and threatening a vulnerable teenager.

Dishes washed, dried, and put away, Skye lit a floral-scented three-wick candle then straightened the pillows and folded the multitude of blankets on the couch. Putting off her conversation with Rabble could last only so much longer as she ran out of chores. A small part of her, the part that doubted his intentions despite his words, worried he would laugh at her, call her childish, and defend his actions. Another part, in the darkest recesses of her heart, felt ashamed that she ran away without asking questions or answering the many messages her friends and Rabble had left her. Ignoring every single one of them made her sick, but being a relatively private person, she couldn’t stand the idea of her friends fawning all over her right now. She’d message them later tonight.

Once she finished cleaning every corner of the cottage, Skye spent too many minutes working up the courage to unplug her phone from its charging cord in the kitchen and call Rabble. It was time. She shouldn’t, and couldn’t, procrastinate anymore.

Skye dialed Rabble’s number, ending the call after a second before it could ring through. Maybe this conversation would bebest held in person, where she could look into his eyes and read his emotion in the gray clouds that resided there. Determined to speak with him face to face, she grabbed her phone and keys from the bamboo bowl by the door, then turned to the new alarm system. The illuminated blue buttons on the keypad mocked her with their simplistic complexity. Dash had explained how the alarm system worked. Skye stared at the keypad, willing it to share its secrets and help her remember the code for securing the system.

The six-digit code came to her, number by number until she remembered the entire thing and swung open the door to leave.

“Dylan?” Surprise stole her brainpower and made her freeze just inside the door.

He flashed a nice smile, not the one he reserved for public relations situations, but something glittered in the blue depths that made Skye fidget nervously.

“Can I come in?” he asked, gesturing to the living room behind her.

Skye glanced over her shoulder at her safe space, her sanctuary, and cringed. “I was actually just going out.”

The smile didn’t falter, though his voice lost some of its cheery edge. “It will only take a moment.”

She wanted to say no, but maybe giving in would make him go away faster. “Okay.”

As she stepped out of the doorframe, Dylan sauntered inside, and she closed the door behind him. When she pivoted to face him, he moved further into the living room, his gaze raking over the titles on her bookshelves, and he sneered with scorn at her reading choices. She had no doubt, the titles were beneath him.

“Can I help you, Dylan?” Skye shifted from foot to foot.

Now that she’d decided to speak with Rabble, that was all she wanted to do. She wasn’t interested in a conversation withher ex-boyfriend, especially considering his involvement in her father’s disgusting plot to remove Rabble from her life, again.

“You know,” he said, straightening the perfectly cuffed sleeves of his button-down, “had you married me like your parents wanted, you never would’ve had to live in this hovel.”

Skye reared back as if he had slapped her. “Excuse me? I wouldn’t call it a hovel.”

She loved her cottage and worked tirelessly to restore its current glory. She’d chosen the furniture based on comfort, not style, and the colors and textures of the rooms and furnishings were complimentary muted tones of soft green, blues, and grays. Her home radiated peace and comfort, exactly the type of place she desired after a long day around her amazing and chaotic job.

Dylan clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Poor, simple Skye. You just don’t get it.”

Her stomach cramped, this conversation felt wrong on every level. “I think you should leave.”

Dylan’s suave, gentlemanly illusion dropped like a curtain falling away from a broken window. The act was over, the politician nowhere to be found. Skye bet the bored, exasperated look pulling at the corners of his mouth was his primary expression, not the placating smile he displayed to everyone in public.

He stepped toward her. “Do you even realize the kind of political alliance our marriage would create? How much power your father and mine would have; how much I would have? And how that will benefit you too?”

“Political alliance? I’ve never cared about that. And we haven’t dated in years. No one said anything about marriage except for my delusional parents.”

“Skye, honey, you live with your head buried in the sand, wasting your time teaching, not paying attention to what’s happening behind the scenes. I gave you space to do as youpleased, but it’s time to move forward, to accept that our marriage is inevitable.”

Her head spun from the words spewing from his mouth, and she grasped the doorknob behind her back. “You need to leave.” Each word was clipped, not allowing any room for miscommunication.

Skye twisted the doorknob and pulled it toward her, her eye on the alarm system’s panic button. But the door hadn’t opened more than a few centimeters before Dylan slammed into her body, banging the door shut. Her head smacked the solid wood with a loud crack, and Skye saw stars. If only she’d agreed to let Dash install the video surveillance too.

He gripped her shoulders tightly, his fingertips digging into her arms hard enough to bruise, and he shook her. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

She cried out as her head cracked against the door again, but he cupped his hand over her mouth, so she did the first thing that came to mind: She bit down. Hard.

Dylan gave a sharp shout of pain, and Skye enjoyed a moment of satisfaction until he slapped her across the face. Her jaw throbbed, and she struggled, bucking and squirming against his hold. He jerked on the phone she held in a death grip and threw it across the room. Her keys followed, flying through the air, landing with a loud clang in the kitchen.

Fight, fight!her brain shouted.

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