Page 57 of Second Draft

When I’m in the car, and he’s beside me, I say shakily, “I should have told you–”

“Not now, Layla.”

Those three words confirm my fear.

It’s over.

Chapter 22

Carter

I shut the front door a little too hard behind me and the sound resonates through the house.

Layla winces, but she doesn’t say anything, just starts up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

I let her go, because I need some time to process everything that just happened. I know I should go to her. Comfort her. But right now I’m too fucking angry to do anything but pace, and maybe smash my hands through a wall.

It took all of my strength not to hit the man.

The man was right, he wasn’t her father. Because no real father would ever treat their child the way he treated Layla. I don’t care what kind of trouble she got herself into when she was younger.

Rubbing my temple, I lean against the kitchen counter and try to process what the man had said.

Layla had been pregnant before. That much is obvious. A lot of things make sense now. And yet I know there’s so much more to the story. And I need to know. I need to know what she’s been holding back, not because it will change anything, but because I think it’s the key to her finally letting go of the pain she’s holding onto.

I take the stairs, my footsteps heavy, and try to release the tension that’s still inside of me, spinning around like a molten lava ready to explode.

Deep breath.

This isn’t about you. This is about her and her asshole parents.

She won’t tell me anything if I walk in there like a raging bull demanding answers.

I knock once, then open the door, freezing when I see the half-filled suitcase on her bed. “What are you doing?”

She flinches, but doesn’t turn around, just continues to pull items out of her drawer.

“Layla, stop.” I grab her wrists gently. “Don’t run from me.”

“I…” She sucks in a shaky breath and looks away.

Taking the clothes in her hand, I place them on the bed, then pull her into my arms. Her body is tense, every muscle like steel. I rub her back until I feel her slowly relax.

“I know I should have told you.” Her voice is shaky, and I can hear how hard she’s trying to hold back her emotions. “I just didn’t want you to see me…like they do.”

I tuck my thumb under her chin and force her face up, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Look at me, Layla.”

Slowly, her lashes flutter open, and she meets my gaze.

My chest tightens painfully at what I see there.

Shame.

Hurt.

Regret.

“I’m not judging you for what happened in the past.”

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