“You don’t know her.” He shakes his finger in her direction. “She’s dangerous and unstable!”
Unstable? I can see that. Dangerous? Not so much.
Heat rises into my throat. “What makes you say that? Because she defends herself? Hardly what I would consider dangerous, sir.”
Her father shakes, ready to detonate like a goddamn bomb. It’s fine. It wouldn’t be the first one to blow up in my face.
“Is that what she told you? There’s nothing she’s needed to defend herself from!”
Is he fucking delusional?
Skye starts to speak from behind me, but I reach my hand back before she can get a word out.
“Did she put all those bruises on herself?” I ask. “She was covered nearly head to toe in them. I haven’t seen someone as small as her with such injuries since the goddamn war.”
“Don’t you swear in my fucking house!” he screams, his voice straining the more his anger rises. “What I do to my daughter is none of your business!”
“It became my business once I saw what you’ve done to her. Does it make you feel big to beat on her? What about your wife? Am I going to find her bruised up too?” I take a step toward him, but Skye grabs the back of my shirt and I step back. My skin is on fire.
Her father is speechless. His face is a dark shade of red, angry blood flushing his cheeks.
“Go get your stuff, Skye,” I command.
She hesitates for a moment before squeezing out from behind me and slipping past her father without looking at him. I hear a woman’s voice. My eyes jump across the room in time to see Skye’s mother envelop her within her arms. Their words are mere whispers, and I can’t make out what they’re saying. Her mother glances at me and pulls her hair over her shoulder, letting it cover her face. I can still see the shadows of discoloration beneath her hair.
The muscles harden in my back. “Well, that answers my question,” I tell him through clenched teeth.
He drops his gaze and pivots toward Skye, but I push him back with a stiff arm.
“I’m going to need you to wait right here, father of the year.”
“I have anger issues,” he says out of nowhere. His cheeks deflate with a heavy breath.
I don’t care. “So do I,” I say without meeting his gaze.
“Then you should underst—”
“That’s a big negative, ghost rider.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never done something you regret to someone you love?”
If only he knew. I did something I’ll regret until my dying breath. Shit, my ghost will probably walk this earth, still wishing he could take back what I did.
“I have, but the difference between you and me is that I didn’t continue to do it day after day, over and over. I didn’t hurt them until they became that.”
I point at a picture on the table beside me. In it, Skye and her father stand side by side. She wears a pinched smile, her body leaning away from his touch. Sleeves cover her arms on a bright sunny day when everyone in the background is in short sleeves.
I scoff. “You’re a disgrace of a man.”
As the words tumble out of my mouth, it hits me. I destroyed Emily like that. Not quite like it, but pretty damn close. I never intentionally laid my hands on her, but emotionally, I made her a stranger to not only me, but herself. I destroyed her.
Fuck. This house has given me a breakthrough before the therapist’s office could. Holy toxicity.
Skye comes back into the hallway, holding garbage bags filled with the things that matter to her.
“Are you sure you want to go with this man, Skye?” her father asks as he reaches a hand toward her.
I intercept it and get between them again. I need to protect her. It’s becoming natural for me, much like breathing air into my lungs. She needs me. And I kinda need her too.
“Fuck you,” she snaps at him.
Her dad’s posture deflates in front of me.
Atta girl.
I let a smirk slip across my face, and I bite it back. If she’s going to say shit, it might as well be with a six-foot-three wall between them.
“If you ever touch Skye or her mother again, I’ll give you an opponent much more your size, Mayor. I was in the military, which included dealing with limp-dicked pieces of shit like yourself.”
He breathes hot air at me, his cheeks pulsing.
I usher Skye toward the door.
“Make sure you’re going to fucking therapy!” her dad calls from behind me.
“She isn’t the only one who needs therapy,” I say as I grab one of her bags and slam the door behind me.
I throw her stuff in the trunk and sit in the driver’s seat. Skye sniffs hard and wipes her face. I reach over and wipe away a tear she missed.
“Your dad’s an asshole,” I tell her with a smile, “but are you sure you wanna come back with me?”
She nods, refusing to look back at her house as we drive away.