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A heavy, grating moment slugged by as I waited, my back to Whitney.

I just waited.

Whitney moved around me and pressed her hand to my forearm. She didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at her, and there was nothing I could do but wait for her words to slice me down.

“I need you to think long and hard about whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, her tone low and leveling. “Or about to do.”

Swallowing, I twisted to face her, everything I was so desperate to hide shining back at her within the guilty glimmer of my eyes. Despite my efforts to shield myself, Whitney’s words cut through the bullshit, exposing the raw truth I couldn’t seem to bury. “Whit…”

“Don’t, Reed.” She shook her head, telling me she already knew. She didn’t know everything, but she knew something. “You’re a grown man, and she’s an adult. It’s not my place to tell you what to do. But it is my place to protect our daughter.”

My breath hitched. “I would never hurt Tara.”

Her eyes flashed as she chewed on her lip. “You’d be surprised how easily good intentions can turn rotten. Every single one of us is capable of hurting the people we love most.” Emotion infected her words as she inhaled sharply. “Trust me. I know.”

I didn’t get a chance to respond before she whooshed past me into the dining room, joining the rest of the group at the table with a force-fed smile on her face. “How’s the pie?”

Fuck. Me.

I needed to break this tether.

This bind.

Whitney wasn’t ignorant to it, no matter how hard I tried to reroute things in a more savory direction. She’d soon discover the full extent of my depraved truth, and then it would only be a matter of time before Tara did, too.

I couldn’t let that happen.

My daughter was my foundation. With every misstep and heavy-footed stumble, I was making cracks. And if I didn’t start patching these holes, she’d slip right through.

We all would.

CHAPTER 29

I stepped through the main door of Reed’s studio later that week, greeted by the sound of feet hitting the mat. Energy swirled around me as grunts and kicks echoed off the walls and a pop song poured from a nearby boombox. It was late June, almost two years to the date since I’d first laid eyes on Reed Madsen.

He didn’t look the same as he did that night. The creases around his eyes were slightly more prominent, and the color of his jade irises had darkened some. He was even more built now than he was then, a wall of muscle and strength. A wall, in general. Too sound and too well-constructed to break through. Shadows followed him around these days, and sometimes I wondered if they had left me for him. Maybe they’d grown bored with me. Tired and uninspired by my tedious gloom.

I quietly closed the door behind me as I watched him train with a middle-aged woman with hair spun with light-amber frizz. Beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks and nose like they were playing connect the dots with her freckles. I observed the sparring session with equal parts melancholy and nostalgia. While I missed training with Reed, I didn’t miss the debilitating feeling that came along with our dodges and blows.

Reed’s eyes flicked my way, the image of me taking a seat along the wall catching him off guard for a moment, long enough for the woman to aim a hairline strike that had him teetering back.

She squealed with victory, her gloved hands shooting toward the ceiling, unknowing that I’d been the one to distract him.

You’re welcome, lady.

A few more minutes passed before Reed turned off the music and plucked off his gloves. “Nice job, Sandra. Same time next week?”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll be running a few minutes late, but I’ll be here.”

“Sounds good.”

I nibbled my thumbnail and zoned out on my chipped red polish. Scotty had told me that Reed wanted to see me tonight. Wanted to talk to me about something. I wasn’t sure what that something was, but curiosity had me trudging through a blanket of humidity as I’d jogged the mile over. Sweat still clung to every inch of me, so I billowed the tank top off my stomach to let my skin breathe.

Poor Scotty.

He’d become our middleman since Reed wasn’t able to call the house or show up at the front door to request a private meeting with me. That would only prompt questions, and questions would incite answers we couldn’t give.

Scotty had choked down his pain, still treating me with kindness and friendship. It was almost like he was patiently waiting for whatever this was to peter out so I’d look at him in the same way he looked at me.

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