Page 20 of False Start
He’d tried to stop me from going, his hand squeezing tight around my wrist.
I’d pulled free and warned him to keep his hands to himself.
Fortunately, that was the end of it.
It wasn’t often his temper got to that level. Usually, he used his financial power and his words to hurt me.
But this time, he’d gone just far enough off the rails to use his hands.
I’d snapped a picture of the bruises when they started to appear and hid it in a secret album on my phone, just in case.
I didn’t know how muchproofthe court needed, but if this little incident could help me one day — I was going to make sure to use it.
For a long moment, Kyle and I just stared at each other — me with my chin lifted, not backing down, and Kyle with his chest rapidly rising and falling, his fingers curling into fists and then releasing over and over.
Finally, he let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and holding up the other toward me. “I’m sorry.”
“Look at me when you say it.”
That made his head snap back like I’d slapped him, and the corner of his mouth curled a bit. It reminded me of when he was a bratty fifteen-year-old, and I was sent to straighten him out.
I was halfway to it.
And then I had to go and fall in love with him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his blue flame eyes locked on mine this time. “Not for wanting to kill his punk ass,” he clarified, holding up one finger. “But for thinking you need anyone, least of all me, to save you.”
We were back to staring at each other, and now it wasmychest rapidly rising and falling.
I cleared my throat. “As I was saying, the next house—”
“Let me help you.”
I looked up at the ceiling before letting my hand slap against my thigh. “Didn’t we just arrive at the conclusion that I don’t need your help?”
“I said you didn’t need saving,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
Then, he stepped into me, and all the air in the room split like an atom, leaving us in the tight, unbreathable space between.
“Everyone needs help sometimes, Mads.”
I closed my eyes at the nickname, wetting my lips and willing myself not to let my memories get the best of me. My body was already a traitor, chills racing up my arms, my heart fluttering at the way it sounded rolling off his tongue in his new, older, deeper voice.
“How much?”
I blinked my eyes open. “How much what?”
“How much do you need to be free of him?”
And just like that — all the ooey gooeyness was gone.
I scoffed, pushing past him. “Wow.”
“I’m serious,” he said, and this time, it was him stopping me from storming out. His hand caught the inside of my arm, but it was gentle, enough that it took a half shrug to break free of the grip.
“Absolutely not, Robbins,” I seethed. “I am not now, nor have I ever been, a charity case. When this closes,” I added, motioning to the binder still clutched in my other hand. “I’ll have money. And don’t youdaretry to rush it,” I threatened, pointing my finger into his chest. “Because I’ll light you on fire and dance in the ashes. I am not a weak, helpless thing. I can handle myself. And if you respect me at all, you’ll honor this.”
He opened his mouth, and I already saw that he was about to argue.
