Page 93 of Heart Sick Hate

“Losing her made me sick in ways there’s no reversing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Crew.”

It’s sweet she thinks that—innocent. Seeing the best in people who don’t deserve it.

“No.” I shake my head. “There’s nothing wrong withyou.”

She tips her head back and sinks into my arms.

“I might not know where I belong, but I like it here,” she says, nearly a whisper.

“In Oakland?”

“No.” She doesn’t elaborate but she squeezes my arms tighter, where they’re wrapped around her, and that stupid, hopeful piece of me I don’t usually feed wants to think she’s talking about me.

I kiss her temple and pretend she doesn’t break everything inside me as her eyes flutter closed with the trust she places in my hands.

“I’m not ready to go home.”

“We can stay.”

She sighs. “We can’t.”

“Well, I wish we could.”

And it pisses me off because tonight, I’ll be back in LA, where she’s still resisting the fact that she’s meant to be mine, and I’d rather just hide us both from that truth forever.

27

Echo

Dad is already atthe café when I arrive.

“Hi, sweetie.” He stands and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting back down.

The waitress is quick to circle around as she refills Dad’s tea, and I order a coffee—black. There’s not enough caffeine in the world to wake me from the haze I’m in.

Crew and I stayed in Oakland for two days. Doing nothing and everything. Fucking, sleeping, walking around the city hand in hand. And now that I’m back in LA, I’m not ready to wake up from the fantasy.

After the initial bumps in our journey, we managed to set aside our reality for twenty-four hours, and in that time, I almost felt like his. Like our lives back in LA didn’t need to exist and we could disappear in whatever we were feeling.

If only that were possible.

My gaze moves to the four not-so-subtle bodyguards seated a table away, and I’m reminded reality always finds a way to come crashing back.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Last time I saw Dad he had two guys following him, and now they’ve doubled in numbers.

“I’m fine. Max is just being careful.”

“At least someone is,” I grumble, not liking that Dad’s putting himself in danger through whatever situation he and the church are in.

The waitress sets my coffee in front of me before disappearing once more, and I take a quick sip. It burns my lips and makes my heart race. The harsh reality of everything I’ve been avoiding for two days is flooding back in full force.

“What have you been up to? I haven’t spoken to you these past couple of days.” Dad pats the table, ignoring my irritation with his situation and focusing on me instead.

I shrug. “I’ve been busy.”

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