A quick nod is all he gives in return, choosing not to disturb her before he leaves the room.
Annabelle’s beaming teeth are on display when my eyes trail her way.
“What?”
“I just think you guys shouldn’t be at each other’s throats. You had the cutest bond growing up. Him all protective.”
“It was a trauma bond. And that’s a poor choice of words, given that he said he’d slit mine, and I only talked to him to get him out of the room faster.”
“Dollie, go easy. I feel like he’s trying. Like, he’s really trying. You don’t wanna put him back in a psych ward.”
“His mental health is not my responsibility. I’m struggling enough with my own.”
“Maybe not, but be kind and all that shizz.”
Glaring at Annabelle, I would do almost anything to get away from her.
Maybe that’s why, two hours later, I’m sitting outside my house in Shane’s car while she enjoys takeout for one in my kitchen.
“Did you have a nice night?” Shane asks about my night spent in the fogged-up Mercedes, eating cold French fries and a burger bun without the burger.
The brown paper bag with the leftovers sits at my feet. My swelling stomach is already causing me regret.
Shifting in my seat, I ease the discomfort, and now, I’m facing Shane. His face is exactly like Detective Mendoza said—covered in shades of purple, with some yellow as the bruises fade out.
A rush of guilt hits me each time I glance his way. It makes me wish I’d never stepped out here when he showed up and honked half a dozen times.
I don’t deserve to feel these things.
He hurt me.
He broke me.
He deserved everything he got.
But I can’t help the niggle inside that says Ambrose really did a number on him.
“I really have missed you, you know.”
“Have the dating apps lost their appeal?”
“I deleted them that day. I haven’t redownloaded any of them.”
That doesn’t matter.
It should really be the end, given the things he’s done.
I can’t let him reel me in with the promise of what I want most—a normal life, love, and answers. It’s happened so many times before.
“I know you’re probably thinking that this isn’t how you’d like to spend your birthday. But you didn’t wanna go on our date, so I canceled our reservation, and I was set on driving home, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you. At least you’re out of the house,” he says, his face and all its swollen flaws illuminated by the interior light as he smiles at me. “It’s a step up from last year in the apartment with us not talking.”
My returned smile doesn’t meet my eyes, and it’s brought on more by sadness than happiness.
“I never treated you right. I know that.” Something like sorrow hangs on his features, and it softens the wall I’ve built up to keep him from my heart. Crumbling a little, that broken wall lets him get a foot in.
“I was a bad boyfriend, and I really am sorry for what I did.” His fingers grace my healing chest, and my breath catches there. Tears unintentionally fill my eyes, a gift from the memories of that night. Of Shane’s tight grip, of Ambrose’s anger.
Blinking, I wipe my eyes in time to catch them as they fall and pull down the visor mirror to look at myself. My dramatic liner, which Annabelle had perfectly drawn this morning while practicing her skills, is smudged slightly, giving me panda eyes.
