Page 70 of Dark Knight

"What do you want from me?" I sigh.

"How can you say that?" She takes a step closer, her dark eyes narrowed but blazing. "What do I want from you? I want the truth. I want an explanation. Why did you leave that night? Why couldn't you have at least said goodbye? That was already the worst night of my life, and I came home and found out you were gone. Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how long I told myself it was my fault?"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, thanks, I know that now. Try explaining that to a sixteen-year-old who just had her life torn apart. You were the one thing I had that I could count on. You were my life raft, and I was yours – or I was supposed to be. But then you decided to run away."

"It wasn't like that."

Something dangerously close to understanding works its way over her face. "Yeah. I sort of figured after a while."

"What do you mean?" And why do I feel like the walls are closing in on me? She's blocking the doorway and I locked the swinging doors. There's no way out unless I shove my way past her. What am I, a child? There's no running away. I should know that by now.

"I mean, there's a big difference between being sixteen and twenty-six. You figure things out. You get smarter."

Careful. Don't be stupid. "If you're as smart as you say you are, then why are you putting me through this? Why do you want an apology if you know I had no choice?"

Her soft sigh is a punch to the gut. The way her face sags. "Maybe I just need to feel like I mattered at some point in my life. That somebody actually gave a shit about me for real, and not just because they wanted to get in my pants and have a little fun." She looks tired as her shoulders slump and the light leaves her eyes.

"You know it wasn't like that. It never was."

"Then why are you still so pissed at me? Why can't you look me in the eye without having to look away? Why couldn't you even call me to see if I was okay when you knew I lost our baby? Even if you didn't care about it, you were supposed to care about me." She scoffs, shaking her head. "You ran."

I'm not pissed at her. I'm pissed at myself for so many things, too many to name, even if I could find the words. "You know it wasn't because of the baby, right? That's not why I left."

She snorts, nodding. "Like I said. You figure things out."

No, she couldn't have. Could she? "Then say it," I whisper. "What do you think you know? Go ahead."

Her face hardens. "No. I didn't say it to her, and I won't say it to you."

"Her?"

"Tatum found me at the store when I was working. She wanted me to feel better about the shitty way you treated me—because she knows how it feels." All I can do is sputter in surprise. "You can't keep treating people who care about you like it's weakness or something. Because one day, you're gonna wake up, and you'll have run off every last person who ever gave a shit about you, and that will be a sad day, Romero. I would hate to see it happen."

She turns her back on me, stepping outside where her breath turns to a cloud around her head. "If you had just come back as a friend, this could've been different. I never held a grudge against you. None of us did. But you came back here acting like you were better than us. Like you resent us. That, I'm not going to forgive. And I thought you should know."

I'm almost reeling when she walks away, her shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into her pockets. It's like a hurricane blew through here. All I can do is look around at the wreckage and wonder what the hell I'm supposed to do now.

In the middle of my dazed, confused state, one face flashes in front of my mind's eye. One person who can't mind her own goddamn business. She just had to know more, didn't she? Comforting Becky was an excuse. Becky saw her opportunity and she jumped on it.

Everything around me goes red as I charge out of the garage and across the yard. She has fucked around for the last time. Now, she'll find out what happens when people don't do as I say.

"If you would just do as I say, I wouldn't have to lose my temper." I shake my head like that will do anything to shake off the memory of hearing those words delivered straight to my face, nose to nose, spoken in the calmest voice imaginable, even as blood dripped down my face. Even as the taste of it filled my mouth. He had the balls to stand there and blame it on me, just like he blamed it on Mom. It was always somebody else's fault.

And here I am, making the same excuses. It's my own fucking weakness staring me in the face now, my inability to deal with the past. It's nobody's fault but my own.

I slam the gun on the counter with a trembling hand and swear to God there's somebody sitting on my chest. I can hardly take a breath. "Tatum?" I call out. Nothing but the sound of my voice echoes back. "Tatum? Where are you?"

CHAPTER24

TATUM

At first, it's a relief to find the house quiet when I venture out of the bedroom. I don't know how much longer I can stand living with a time bomb. That's how it feels. The clock's always ticking. I'm always waiting for the next explosion.

My frayed nerves settle a little as I walk downstairs to find a quiet, peaceful first floor. Except for a coffee cup on the counter, there's no evidence of Romero. I pick it up—it's still warm—and look out the back window in time to find the last person I expected to see hurrying out of the garage. "Becky?"

She's practically running with her head down, and a quick hand under her eyes tells me she's crying. He made her cry. I have no idea what she's doing here so early in the morning, but it doesn't matter as much as the fact that she's flushed and teary.

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