Page 139 of Swallow Your Sorries

“You’re trying to protect them again. You’re trying to get me to not seek answers elsewhere.”

I swallow. “My mother doesn’t know anything.”

“Is that the excuse you always use for her? That she just doesn’t know? Or that she doesn’t entirely understand. Like she’s the child?”

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

“Is that why you want to protect her?”

“Six. It has nothing to do with protecting anyone. I’m just saying that sometimes…things aren’t so black and white. Sometimes there is no logical answer, right?”

Like you and me and the chemistry rippling between us.

Maybe with Jarett and Madame, there is no rhyme or reason.

He blinks, snapping out of whatever trance he’s slowly slipping into. “Wrong. Every problem has a solution.”

Did he think bringing me here would help him find it? His solution?

“Bend backwards.”

I grip the barre with both hands and curl my spine backwards, watching him upside down. He’s so close his cock can practically rest on my face.

His fingers slide across my back and dip beneath the low back of my leotard before trailing down my ribs. I jump from the ticklish sensation and nearly release the barre as his fingertips settle into the small concave of my scar that’s still tender, depending on the weather. Butterflies erupt in my stomach as he peels the fabric at my side away to stare pensively at the mark.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital after the car accident?”

“Seven,” I bite out. “That’s the seventh question.” And a wasteful one. “Why do you think? I was too busy running away from your family.”

“After that. You never sought help?”

Did he actually care?

Impossible.

“No. Eight.”

“The pain must have been excruciating.”

That’s not a question.

“Your mother must’ve noticed.”

“She didn’t.”Damnit!It wasn’t a question.

His eyes darken. “Has she ever noticed your suffering?”

“She was suffering—”

“That’s not what I asked, but your non-answer is answer enough.”

I bite my tongue.

“Did the car stop? That hit you?”

I shake my head as I stand upright again and feel the blood rush downward. “Once I scrambled to my feet, it shot off. The driver was probably a cheap ass, despite how nice the car was. Nine.”

“What did it look like? The hood must’ve had an ornament to leave a scar like that.”

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