Page 45 of The Games We Play

“Why?”

“I’d love nothing more than for my dad to give a damn about me and to spend time with me. But mine can’t even look at me. Fuck, he couldn’t stand to be on the same continent as me. He—” I take a deep breath and lower my voice. Ryan doesn’t know what happened. The only person who does is X. My skin itches, the overwhelming sense to get relief. I grip the towel in my hand and bite on the inside of my cheek. “Eat the smores, Ryan.”

His features fall, and he steps up to the doorway beside me. “I’m sorry, Tess. I didn’t realize.”

“Don’t. I’m fine. I’m going to go change and I’ll meet you outside. The hot water sounds nice.”

I don’t turn to look at Ryan as I rush through the house and up the stairs. I’m panting by the time I close the door and rip the clothes from my overnight bag until I find what I’m looking for.

The grip the handle in my hand and jerk my leggings down with my free one. I tease the blade along old scars of different sizes and shapesalong my inner thigh. This isn’t what I want. Not anymore. It doesn’t take the edge off.

X is here.I saw him.Didn’t I?

Or did I just imagine he found me? Wishing he was here to get my fix. My skin itches and I tug at my roots. A storm brews inside of me with nowhere for it to go.

A voice tsks behind me and I spin, but there’s nobody there. I stare at myself in the mirror. The urge to crack the glass to match how I feel inside nearly takes over. I can’t hide up here all night. Like Mr. Collins said, being out here is like hitting reset—that’s what I need.

My phone lights up on my comforter and I walk over to check it. A text from an unknown number displays on my screen.

Did you think you could hide from me? That quaint little house on the lake was easy to find. I expect you to remember what happens if anyone touches you.

My chest warms and the gnawing feeling I had downstairs dissipates.

What if I touch myself?

I smirk at my response and slip my T-shirt and bra off and pull on my bikini top. I’m adjusting my bottoms when a soft knock sounds on the door.

Mr. Collins leans against the wall, but his demeanor has changed. He looks sad, staring at his feet with his arms flexed across his chest.

I stop short. “Mr. Collins,” I say with shock. “Is something wrong?”

Slowly, his gaze travels from my toes up to my eyes. A trail of heat covers my body with his perusal. I shift, and wrap my arms over my abdomen as if that will dampen the fire building in my center.

What is wrong with me?I should not be having these feelings.

“I was looking for Ryan. Is he--?”

I shake my head. “No, he’s waiting for me downstairs. We were going to get in the hot tub.”

His phone chimes and checks it, his brows furrowing, then his clear blue eyes glance up at me. “Do you think he hates me?”

I’m taken aback by his question. “Why would he hate you?”

“I’m gone more than I’m home and have no idea what he’s doing in school or sports because I’m not there. I can’t even have a conversation with him without him formulating an escape plan.”

My chest hurts from the pain and sadness in his voice. I want to reassure him in any way I can.

“He doesn’t hate you,” I say, resting my palm on his bicep. “You’re doing the best you can.”

His muscles flex under my touch and he lets out a hollow chuckle. “They don’t give parenting lessons in school and I swear I don’t know what I’m doing here half the time.”

“You’re here,” I say, my voice low and soft. “That’s more than some fathers.”

Mr. Collins places his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Tess. I don’t know how anyone could just up and leave you.”

His words crack open my bandaged and taped together heart. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the awful sound that bubbles up from my throat and the tears that well in my eyes. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I nod, and try to back away, but Mr. Collins keeps a firm hold on my hand and pulls me against his chest.

He smells clean and his touch is oddly comforting. I return his embrace, noting how his muscles ripple across his body. Swallowing the lump in my throat, X’s warning slams into the front of my mind.

---