Page 16 of The Broken Note

“I’m fine.” I push the jacket over his lap. “Viola, let’s—”

My sister springs out of the car and slams the door so hard that the entire vehicle rocks. A gasp tears from my lips. There’s no way I can afford to pay for even a scratch on Dutch’s fancy ride. What the hell is she thinking?

Fingers clenching, I glare at her through the window.

Not that she notices.

Her ponytail swishes from side to side as she angrily jogs up the stairs and disappears from view.

I scramble onto the sidewalk to follow her.

Dutch’s car door slams shut, a soft thud in the star-lit night. A moment later, he’s beside me. His fingers close around mine.

I feel the warmth again. I feel something snapping into place. Like he’s buried inside me. Somewhere I can’t reach to dig him out and throw him away.

He tugs me forward and into his chest. His arms surround me. Big hands covering my back and waist.

He hugs me so close, I can smell the musky scent of his cologne.

The heat I worked so hard to fight begins to creep into every single cell in my body.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Dutch murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me, but I’m here for you.”

His words are gentle, but his grip on me is firm.

Damn. It.

Damn, damn, damn.

I don’t want to feel a thing.

I want to be numb.

I want to be alone.

Caring for someone else means taking more from me to give to another. And I don’t have any pieces of me left to give. Not right now. Not ever.

For the briefest of seconds, I allow myself to be held.

And then I push Dutch back.

The weight of his gaze presses around me. He’s staring at me. Trying to figure me out. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. A girl disheveled. Muddy. Bruised. Bleeding.

Whatever game he’s playing with me right now, I don’t have the energy to figure it out. Silently, I leave him on the sidewalk and hurry up the stairs.

The front door is open.

Viola is standing there, frozen.

All the warmth that came from being in Dutch’s orbit flees immediately. I sprint the remaining distance between me and my sister, wondering what despicable sight is holding her captive.

The moment I skitter to a stop beside her and look inside, I go frozen too.

Mom has the dinner table set.

Three plates. Three forks. Three servings of spaghetti.

Cold drinks. Probably the pink lemonade flavored Kool-Aid. The one we were saving for a celebration.

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