Page 38 of The Caress

"She’s taking a nap. Though she can probably hear you shouting from her bedroom."

I feel a stab of guilt at that thought. This is what Ella was talking about the other day, isn’t it? This is why my daughter thinks we’re mad at each other all the time.

Because I can’t seem to keep my temper in check when I’m around Ella. Because I see her with another guy, even an old creep like Louis. I completely lose my shit.

That’s a problem. I don’t know how to solve it without completely cutting myself off from the situation.

From Ella.

"Ella?" Isla’s little voice calls out from behind us, thankfully saving me from saying anything else that I might regret, even if she’s sort of proving Ella’s point at the same time. "Dad? Why didn’t you wake me up if you were coming to the beach?"

I don’t know what to say, but Ella walks over to meet her with a smile and a hug. "We still have plenty of time to play on the beach, sweetie. Did you have a good nap?"

"I guess," Isla answers, tossing me a suspicious look over her shoulder as she walks by, hand-in-hand with Ella. "Can we build a sandcastle today?"

"Of course." Ella looks up at me as Isla squats down to gather up some sand. "Do you want to join us, Keir?"

I nod, feeling more like an asshole with each passing second. I love Ella, and she’s fantastic with Isla, but this incident has been a sudden, painful reminder that all the reasons why we couldn’t be together before are still present, bubbling just under the surface and waiting to sabotage any potential relationship.

She’s too young. I’m too set in my ways. She wants a different life than the one I can provide. My family hates her.

Oh. Then there’s the part where someone wants to kill her because of me.

A relationship is hard enough at the best of times. How is it supposed to survive all those challenges?

I don’t think it can. I don’t think any relationship could.

If this was a business decision, I would have already cut my losses and moved on to the next deal. Life isn’t as black and white as business, though. And I’m not ready to cut my losses yet, even though I know it’s the smartest thing I can do.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

ELLA

My mom sounds almost hysterical when I answer the phone. "Ella, dear? Is this a bad time?"

I'm alone in the living room, watching TV, but I look around just to make sure. "It’s not a bad time for me. It has to be really early there, though. Is everything okay?"

"No, everything is," she sniffles, and it sounds like she’s choking back a sob. "Everything is not okay. Not even close to being okay."

My heart is starting to beat faster as I stand up from the couch and start pacing. I'm already cursing myself for not being there to help with whatever new crisis has arisen at home while I've been away.

"Try to calm down," I say, even though I feel like I’m probably a few seconds away from a full-blown panic attack myself. "Just take a second and breathe." I try to follow my own advice, inhaling and slowly exhaling to calm my rattled nerves before I continue. "Now, tell me what’s going on so I can try to help fix it."

"We’re in trouble, Ella," she says, her voice trembling. "Financial trouble. The bank is threatening to take the house if we don’t come up with a lot of money really soon."

I sit back down on the sofa, feeling the air rush from my lungs like I’ve just been punched in the gut. My family hasn’t ever had much money. We don’t have a lot of fancy things. That's fine. My parents taught me that my self-worth isn’t tied to what I own or how much money I have in the bank. But they’ve always had that house. They’ve always been proud to be homeowners, to have that one tiny slice of the American dream.

"They can’t just take the house," I say, even though I’m not entirely sure if that’s true. "I think they have to give you a certain amount of notice. I’m sure they’d rather work with you to catch up on your payments than go through the hassle of foreclosing."

"They’ve given us notice," she says quietly. "It’s gone past that point now, and we’re almost out of time. I don’t want to burden you with our troubles, but I don’t know what else to do. Your father isn’t sleeping. He’s barely eating. He has too much stress right now as it is. I’m afraid this is going to push him over the edge. He’s going to have a heart attack if something doesn’t change."

"I know, Mom," I say, tears welling up in my eyes even as I’m trying to comfort her. "He’s been so worried about Joy lately. I just don’t know what to do. I want to help, but I don’t even know where to start."

"Joy? Why has he been worried about Joy?"

"I—what?" I don’t know what to say. Of course he’s worried about Joy. Isn’t she worried? Why does she sound so confused? Is she so upset that she can’t think clearly? "Mom, maybe you should lie down or something. Haveyouseen a doctor lately? About your stress, I mean?"

She starts to answer, but the front door of the villa swings open, startling me and making me fumble with the phone as I crane my neck to see who it is.

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