Page 9 of Dagger's Property
She flinches like I just struck her down. That’s not what I fucking meant, but I don’t get the chance to explain.
“Well, since you don’t want to spend time with me, I’ll get out of your way.”
She grabs her bags and walks toward the door. I widen my stance, blocking her way out. She’s not going anywhere.
“Put your bags down, Wyn. You’re staying put.”
“I’m old enough to decide for myself.”
“I fucking mean it, sis. And it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, but you make it so damn difficult. You act like everyone’s your enemy. I’m not the bad guy here. All I’m trying to do is help.”
“Keeping me here against my will is not helping, Vale.” She turns and walks over to my couch, dropping her bags down before she plops down in a huff. I count to ten, trying to channel a scrap of patience to deal with her stubborn ass. If this is what having a teenage daughter is like, I may never have kids.
“Look. Can we have a reset?” I take a seat on the edge of the coffee table, forcing myself right in her space. Unfortunately for her, I’m too big to ignore. But she certainly tries. She keeps her eyes trained down at her jeans, picking at a frayed hole, pulling at the loose strands of thread. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Wyn, and I’m sorry if I did. I promise no one here thinks you’re broken. Every single man out in that room has been through shit. We all have our pasts, and no one’s going to judge you for yours.”
She doesn’t look up, but there is a flicker in her eyes. The tear in her jeans keeps getting bigger, and so does the silence. You could cut the tension with a knife. It feels like I’m trying to disengage a bomb, and I don’t know which wire to cut. The sweat is dripping down my back. If I cut the wrong one, say the wrong thing, she’s going to detonate, and I’ll have a war on my hands.
“You used to talk to me, sis. Remember? You used to tell me when shit was bothering you. Now, you won’t even answer my texts.”
Her eyes finally flick up, and I’m caught off guard by how heartstoppingly beautiful they are. Goddamn, I never took notice before. I always thought they were hazel like her mom’s, but they’re almost gray. Gray with flecks of gold, blue, and green. They’re gorgeous. And filled with sadness.
“You left, Vale. Don’t you think it’s a little late to want to play the role of the concerned big brother?”
“I’ve always been concerned, Wyn. Why do you think I send you texts all the time checking in? You just rarely answer them.”
Her eyes drop back down, fidgeting with that same frayed spot. Pretty soon it will be ripped so wide her thigh will be exposed. The seconds keep ticking by and I wait for her to say something. To give me an explanation as to why she’s cut me out of her life, but she keeps playing with her jeans, leaving me to sweat.
Finally, her fingers stop, and her eyes snap back up. There’s no longer sadness within those gray irises, but a resolve.
“I need to get started on my work.” She shifts forward, reaching for her bag, and then pulls out her laptop. It’s clear that she’s done with this conversation, and I’m not going to get more out of her. If she were anyone else, I’d demand she finish the conversation, but it’s Wyn. And I don’t want to become her enemy.
Maybe Shayna could give me a female perspective and tell me how I should handle this, because I’m at a complete loss.
“I’ll let you work for now, but at some point, we’re going to finish this conversation. While you study, I’ll go grab us some food. Are you in the mood for pizza? I’ll get you pineapple and black olive.”
It’s the most disgusting combination, but I know it’s her favorite.
“I’m okay.”
Her eyes return to her screen, and then she’s back to ignoring me. It’s like the room has just frozen over. When Wyn doesn’t want pizza, you know she’s mad. She can be mad at me if she wants, but at least I’ll know she’s safe. The guys who were serving her at the bar could’ve slipped her something. She’s lucky they didn’t.
7
Wynter
The door closes and I can finally take a breath. I don’t know when it got so hard being in his presence, but I can barely breathe. There’s only ever been one person’s opinion who truly matters, but he thinks I’m owned by my scars. I can see it in his eyes. He still sees me as that broken little girl. And I can hear it in the words of his texts. He never just texts to catch up or shoot the shit, joke around. There’s always that underlying concern. “Are you okay?” “Have you made any new friends?” “How’s college going? Is it better than high school?” “I’m worried about you, Wyn. Answer me.” “The silence makes me believe that something’s wrong. I might have to drive there if you don’t answer me.”
And yet… he never did. Not until my mom called and complained about me. Then he was quick to show up and take her side, wasn’t he? If he wants to help, he should let me go. I’ll pack up my life and move far away. Maybe then I’ll be free.
Free of the memories.
Free of the anger.
Free of the resentment.
Free of the nightmares.
It’s all such a heavy burden to carry. I feel like I’m locked in its prison. My father’s hatred. My mother’s disappointment. Martin’s pity. And Vale’s rejection. He up and left. He ran off with all the pretty girls and his “brothers” and I was left with no one. The girls at my school got meaner. Boys got more persistent. And the pressure grew tighter.
