I relaxed back into Dermot, his arm coming across my chest so that his hand rested on the opposite shoulder. There was no stopping this now. I knew that.
“It really wasn’t a big deal,” I pointed out. “Abby and I had words—”
“Oh, she said some bullshit,” Yates snapped, “but words don’t include pulling you by your hair so hard you fell and practically cracked your goddamn head open. Not to mention her kicking you in the ribs.”
I grumbled under my breath as almost immediately, Lincoln took the laptop to watch the video. I very clearly remembered what he was talking about; no need for the reminder of her calling me trash because of where I’d been adopted from. Oh, and about the guys never wanting me for anything more than sex.
Inhaling sharply, I tried to remove that thought from my head, not wanting to get caught in my own insecurities, especially after such an amazing… that didn’t even seem like the right word for it… such a mind-blowing moment with King earlier.
Abby Brooks was wrong. This was so much bigger than someone like her could comprehend.
“Is that true?” King’s voice had me flushing with embarrassment at how I had handled all of it, the twins now watching video evidence of how weak I was.
Today more than ever I was seeing the contrast in strength of how I handled situations compared to them. It was practically laughable, the difference. That doubt in my ability to be worthy of this level of happiness started to creep in, replacing the euphoric high I’d been riding on after my experience with King. Damn, I could not get grounded.
“Angel,” Stratton urged as I blinked, lost in the moment.
“We got in a fight,” I admitted. “I would really rather not relive it.”
King inhaled sharply, but before he could say anything, his phone, which seemed to be a bit of my savior today, rang in the office, where he’d left it. This ringtone I knew. It was his father, and I saw indecision flash through his gaze as he looked over at Yates.
“Send me that video. I’ll be back out in a minute.”
He went into the office as I escaped Dermot’s grasp, feeling frustrated as hell with Yates for causing a problem. Ignoring Lincoln’s call out to me, I strode through the hallway and up the stairs, wanting to get to my room before Yates could catch up to me, because trust me, that is exactly what he would try to do. He didn’t even bother calling out to me, knowing I wouldn’t listen as I reached my bedroom and slid into it, closing the door and locking it right as the knob twisted from the outside.
“Bunny…” Yates’s voice held a warning tone.
Not answering him, I kicked off my shoes and let out a tired sigh. Face-planting in bed, I looked at the clock, wondering how so many hours could be left in the day. My face flushed as I thought about everything that had happened today. I mean, with the exception of losing my virginity, it had honestly been sort of a hot mess.
I winced, realizing that I was sore from King. I loved it, but I also found myself wanting to go take a long bath or to curl up in his lap and sleep.
“Dahlia.” Yates’s voice was firm but hard outside the door.
“I need a minute!” I called out and closed my eyes again. I needed a minute so I didn’t kill the man. He was so… frustrating. That was honestly the only word I was pulling from right now. Stubborn, also.
Before I could get up and go to unlock the door, a slight shift in the air had me turning around, finding Yates leaning over me on the bed. His expression was not amused, and I looked over at the closed door and back at him.
What on earth?
“How?” I demanded.
He blinked. “You don’t have a locked door in this house that I don’t know how to get into.”
Oh.
Wait, what?
I inhaled sharply and closed my eyes, ready to give him a piece of my mind… but then the man was kissing me. It was far softer and more relaxed, almost apologetic—well, as much as Yates could be—in its tone. I let out a confused noise, my hands slipping into hair as I tried to deepen the kiss. He pulled back and examined my face, his eyes almost cautious.
“You’re actually mad at me,” he said, looking half confused.
“I’m frustrated with you,” I admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone was seeped in emotion that his expression wasn’t. “She hurt you, bunny. Physically attacked you, and you didn’t tell any of us. Why?”
“I mean, there were a lot of things we weren’t saying until, like, last night,” I mumbled.
He shook his head. “You should have told us; you should have toldme. And this morning?”