I knew what he was doing. He was trying to rile me. He knew exactly how to push my buttons. But if I went back at him, if I lost my cool again, in his eyes, he would win. I was done losing to him. I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides and turned. It took an effort to make my voice calm, almost hollow.
"I know you like to think you control everything. I know that's your thing. But you don't control me anymore. And you never will again. What could you possibly do now, Dad? Ground me? Take my trust away. Have at it. I don't need anything from you. I hope you enjoy your big, empty house. And I pray to God nothing truly awful happened because there is no coming back from that. That guilt will follow you to your grave and into hell afterward."
With that, I grabbed my purse and jacket and exited with an exaggerated calm I most definitely did not feel.
Again as I rounded my car, I felt the tears stinging my eyes.
I was not a particularly overly-emotional person. But everything was screwed up. Nothing was going to plan. I'd had a week from hell that culminated in an argument with my father that was a lifetime overdue. My entire world felt like it was holding on by a thread and I had no one to turn to.
I couldn't go to Rome for two reasons. One, he would be absolutely infuriated and devastated that I had kept it from him for so long. And two, because I felt weird leaning on him now that I realized he had different intentions than I did.
And, well, there was no one else in my life that I was close enough with to involve.
Never, not once in my life, had I ever felt truly alone like I did as I drove back home, swatting at my cheeks, cursing the tears and everything that had taken place to make them appear.
I went in through the garage that brought me into my kitchen, yanking off the scarf that felt like it had been strangling me the entire day. I flicked on the light and went straight for the coffee machine, despite the fact that all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep away the traces of my hangover and all the emotions I didn't want to face.
"Barrett and Sawyer Anderson, babygirl?" Paine's smooth voice asked from my side, making me screech and fly back several feet, the stainless steel coffee carafe raised like I planned to strike with it. I guess the couple of close encounters I'd had over the past week was altering my fight or flight response.
"Jesus Christ, Paine," I gasped, slamming the carafe down as I spotted him leaning against the counter. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"When you punch in your code, Elsie, make sure no one is watching."
"How about you don't be a creepy stalker who looks over my shoulder, how about that? What is it about our society that teaches 'don't be a victim' rather than 'don't be a criminal'?"
"Not here to debate society with you. I'm here to figure out why you are involved with the Anderson brothers."
I lifted my chin, grabbing the carafe and going back to making the coffee just to have an excuse to not look at him. He was looking way too good in dark jeans and a black sweater. "The night we met, you advised me to get out of what I was in. I'm not stupid. I got out. I got someone else involved for me."
"Barrett Anderson? Seriously, babe?"
"In his defense, I didn't exactly tell him what I was wrapped up in. He went in blind. It was my fault he got put in the hospital."
"No, Elsie. Don't take that shit on. He should have gotten answers out of you before he took the case. Sawyer was right in thinking he didn't belong in the field. It's not your fault he got cocky. It's not your fault you got choked either. So stop thinking that way."
I stood facing the coffee machine, listening to it drip as I took a couple deep breaths. I wasn't in any kind of shape to deal with him right then. Not after the day I had, with my emotions raw and all over the place. I just needed to be alone.
"Babygirl," Paine's voice said in my ear as his body cozied up behind me, his arm snaking around my lower belly and holding me against him.
"Please don't. I can't do this right now," I said, not caring how desperate my voice sounded.
"Talk to me," he urged, leaning down and resting his chin on my shoulder. I felt my head start to shake and his arm tightened around me. And damn if being in a man's arms, held back against his strong chest, didn't feel like exactly what I needed right that minute. "You need to get that shit out. It's eating you up. I'll listen."