Page 60 of Breaking Blaze

What happened to him?

Surely this isn’t because of me. Because of us. There is no us. Not anymore.

Mentally slapping herself, she followed behind Blaze, her gaze dropping to his ass in those jeans even though she knew it was a bad idea. Work worn and perfectly shaped to his body, the jeans cupped his ass just like she wanted to.

Yup. Still a firm, delicious bubble I want to bite.

He sat on the couch, patting the seat beside him.

Huffing, Anna took the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. The chair was as uncomfortable as hell, hence no one ever sat in it. Usually, it held her discarded sweaters, jackets, and the occasional pair of leggings.

Blaze pressed his lips into a thin line, his nostrils flaring. So, he didn’t like that she wasn’t just falling in line. Poor baby Blaze.

And now you sound like a petulant bitch.

Ugh.

Blaze opened his mouth to speak, and Anna held her breath, the air in the room seeming to gain weight, pushing down on her until she couldn’t lift her shoulders.

What the hell was going on?

“My father threatened to kill you if I didn’t stop spending time with you,” Blaze said, his tone flat, an ugly darkness filling his gaze.

Stunned, a gasp shot from her throat even as the rest of the air in her lungs turned to stone. Nausea rolled through her, strangling her. She slapped a hand to her mouth to keep the gorge down. She shook her head, not sure she’d heard him correctly, because he couldn’t have said what she thought he said.

“What?” she husked, her voice raw.

He slid to the edge of the couch, his hands fisting and unfisting. She knew what that was; he wanted to touch her. But he wouldn’t. Because of the distance—physical and emotional—she’d put between them.

But right now, she wanted his touch more than anything. Just to know that, in that moment, he was her safety.

“My dad—that motherfucking bastard—saw us outside the theater that day I know you wanted me to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you, too. To be your first—everything. But I caught sight of him across the street, watching us, and I knew he saw what you didn’t….”

Energy thrummed through the air, sliding over her nerve endings to catch them on fire.

“What did he see?” She sounded breathy, vulnerable.

“He saw that you meant something to me. That if I lost you, I would break.”

“Why the hell would he want you to break, Blaze? He was your dad.”

Unlike her own father who was alive, well, and enjoying retirement from banking in Palm Springs, Blaze’s dad had been the unspeakable thing between them, the thing he never brought up. The stigma that always pulled a dark cloud over their heads when anyone even mentioned or asked about Mr. Harris. And now, she knew why.

“He was a cold-hearted, evil asshole, that’s why. For as long as I could remember, my dad was a miserable piece of shit. If I was happy, he was doing whatever he could to ruin it. Same with my mom. She left when I was sixteen, telling me that she loved me and he hated it, so he threatened to take me away and never let her see me again. So, she left. Jokes on her, though, since she died a week later. He should have been happy as a pig in shit after that, but he only got meaner.

“No matter what I did to toughen up, to keep my true emotions hidden, he always found out. Always ruined what was supposed to be a good thing. Girlfriends. A college scholarship. Friendships. He even put sugar in the gas tank of my 68’ Chevy.”

“Shit,” she cried. “I remember that car. You spent a year working at the landfill to get the money to buy that car.” It had been a piece of shit, but Blaze had been adamant about owning it. Having something for his own he would rebuild and baby.

She remembered how happy he looked when the junkyard owner handed him the notarized ownership papers. She also remembered him showing up at her house a week later, his face a mask of rage, his body vibrating with a darkness so potent, she could only look at him while he sat there seething. It had taken hours for him to come out of it and actually speak to her.

He never said what had happened, but she also remembered she’d never seen that car again.

‘That’s awful, Blaze. That man was a monster,” she whispered, the urge to stand up and go over to him, to put her arms around him, to comfort him was too much. She rose to her feet, circled the coffee table, and sat down right next to him. Without hesitating, she pulled him into her arms.

He sat there. Silent. His body stiff, his breathing labored.

God. What had he been through? What had his asshole dad done to him to turn him inside out like that?

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