Page 143 of Did They Break You

“I’ve got a dad, thank you.”

A moment’s pause, and I think about her stepdad. I know her mom died when she was younger and I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like ifIhadn’t had a mom.

Tristan would be so much better off.

But I don’t know much about Remi’s stepdad. We never really got to that point. Brinklin said his dad brushed shoulders with him, something about his company and political donations.

Mr. Sykes, Brink’s dad, is a raging dick underneath his quiet psychopath, so ifhethinks someone is bad, they probably are.

“How’s your stepdad?” I ask her, keeping my tone light.

She clears her throat. “He’s good.” Her words are stiff, almost robotic.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I grip my steering wheel tighter. “Just good?”

Another pause. Then, “I’m meeting him in a couple of weeks. In Raleigh. Where he moved to. Although our house hasn’t sold yet.” She sounds despondent. Unease crawls down my spine. It’s the same tone she had that night… when Chase was fucking her. I should’ve paid more attention to that. I was too out of it, but I remember it.I’m sure she does, too.

I shift in my seat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she mutters.

A tense silence stretches between us. I know her stepdad is wealthy, and I was concerned about that, in the aftermath of what went down. With all the bruises on her body—bruises I don’t even remember causing—and the money her stepdadwould be able to throw around for bribes or whatever illegal shit went down in small town court systems, I was terrified.

But it didn’t pan out. He didn’t have the connections mine and the pack’s family did. It was wolf territory, like it or not. Not anything to do with us, as football players, but with our families, with money. Influence.

The football probably didn’t hurt.

I think about those bruises my lawyers informed me she had. About when I accused her of lying in the cemetery and she didn’t deny it.

“You get along with him?” I try to keep my tone casual, but there’s an edge to my words that I can’t quite bite back. I’ve become used to protecting her.From everything except myself.

I hear the rustle of the bag of Reese’s and see she’s pulling one out, but she doesn’t answer me.

I flex my jaw. “Remi? You can talk to me, you know.”

She stuffs the chocolate in her mouth, like she’s looking for an excuse not to speak. Or just shutting down.

Frustrated, I hit my open hand against the steering wheel. I see, out of the corner of my eye, she flinches, swallowing down her chocolate, fisting the bag in her hands until her knuckles blanch.

“Has he hurt you, baby?” I ask, my temper rising as I think about my mother. “Ever touched you?” I look over at her, my heart racing as I try to breathe. She’s staring straight ahead, her face pale white.

I keep my eyes on the road, my speed even, despite the fact my fingers are aching on the wheel.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do this shit.Talk to me.”

She doesn’t say a word. I think about Mom slapping me in the face. Her eyes sparking at my mortification. Her screaming at Dad. The way she cut him down.“Fucking redneck, piece of shit truck driver. You’re a fucking truck driver, Ray. You’refucking nothing. I shouldn’t have to doshitin this house, because you donothing!”

I want to yank the wheel, pull over on the side of the road and scream at her to talk to me. If her dad has treated her like my mom treated me, I’ll fucking kill him.

“Remi!” I shout her name and she flinches again, turning her head to me.

“Don’t yell at me.” Her words are quiet, and I try to catch my breath.

I reach across the console and grab her hand, yanking it over to my lap, gripping it tightly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Just… please don’t shut me out. Answer me when I ask you a fucking question.”

“Why?” she demands, her voice cold, as rigid as her hand in my lap. “We both know this isn’t going to work. Why do you want me to rip myself open again for you? Just so you can watch me bleed?” She tries to yank her hand away, but I grip it tighter, my jaw ticking, my eyes darting to the cuts on her arm.

“Has he hurt you?” I know she’s deflecting. I know she’s not mad at me. Or maybe she is, but she’s hurting.Because of him.“I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him?—”

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