It’s killing me to know that she’ll never look at me again the same way.

At the thought, every joint aches and every bone feels as if it’s about to break. But I can’t look at this hateful bastard for another second.

I pick up his suitcase and walk it to the door. “Get the fuck out.”

He stands slowly, laughing. “Look at you, suddenly all defiant. It only took you thirty-three years, Maxon. But that doesn’t change anything.” He hoists his briefcase onto his shoulder and meanders to the door, gripping his suitcase as I open the portal. “You’re still a loser, and you’re always going to be one, especially where your brother is concerned.”

“And you’re always going to be an asshole, you miserable bastard. You’re going to die alone, old and bitter, knowing that no one cares about you. And I’m going to cheer because we’ll all finally be free from your toxic cloud. I hope to fuck you’ve learned something by then. But you’re so stupidly self-important I’m not counting on it.”

I slam the door in his face and throw the latch. Finally, he’s out of my life, and I should be happy. Right now, I just feel exhausted and turned inside out.

I lean my forehead against the door and drag in labored breaths. I know I have to turn and face Keeley, who will be emerging from the bedroom any second… But I can’t catch my breath. My heart races. My fingers are tingling again. I can’t hold myself together.

I’m so fucking angry he unloaded on me, that I still feel like a kid again after being verbally whipped by the old bastard and his slurs, that Keeley will know me at my absolute weakest and worst.

No. No! Fucking no!

I can’t take it. I stomp to the kitchen and swipe all the loose papers there onto the floor. It’s wholly unsatisfying. There’s no crash. No destruction. If I’m coming apart, everything around me should be, too. Goddamn it.

I look for a better target. The coffeemaker stands squarely in my crosshairs. Yeah.

Yanking the cord from the socket, I jerk it from the counter and hurl it against the closet door on the other side of the foyer. It falls to the ground in a twisted heap. The water in the reservoir splats all over the walls and floor. After a belch, the guts hang out. The unit lies there without fight, totally dead.

Unfortunately, I still have a raging ocean of fury flowing inside me. It’s boiling, brewing, bubbling. I look around for my next victim. The microwave looks promising. That son of a bitch has never worked right, and it would be so satisfying to teach it a fucking lesson.

But as I pull the cord free and wrap my arms around it to hoist it up, I feel a soft hand on my shoulder. And I freeze.

Keeley.

I drop the appliance on the counter. If I didn’t want her to see me beat down by my old man, I didn’t want her to see me enraged, either. Shame slithers through me. I close my eyes, wishing the world would swallow me up whole.

“Go away. Let me do this alone. I don’t want to talk about it.”

With a gentle hand, she curls her fingers around my arm. I know I should resist, but how can I refuse something I want so badly? Someone I love so much?

I let her pull me around to face her. I still can’t look at her, but I feel her all around me. Her empathy. Her tenderness. Her adoration.

“Maxon. I’m here.” She pulls my stiff form closer, toward her embrace.

I try not to go. I try not to cry. I try not to be the loser my father accuses me of being. “You should go.”

“I won’t leave you like this.”

“I don’t want you feeling sorry for me. Don’t do it.” I stab the heels of my palms into the sockets of my eyes and retreat from her until my back hits the counter. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“That’s not what I feel at all. Maxon, look at me. Please.”

I’m huffing. I can’t get myself under control. I can’t find my center. The fury rages with a sadness I can’t get out from under or push away or process out. It’s just sitting in the middle of my chest, suffocating me.

But her voice is pulling me away from the darkness, beckoning me with hope and kindness and promise.

Finally, I open my eyes. Blink. Stare. “Jesus. Oh, sunshine…”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Keeley is naked. Every inch of her skin is pale and glowing and exposed. She’s looking at me with blue eyes full of not pity but concern. A desire to help and comfort. An open kinship that says she understands and she’ll be with me.

My guts knot. My eyes sting. Water. What the hell is she doing to me?

“It’s all right,” she promises in a voice so soft it almost hurts me.

I shake my head, slowly at first, then the motion picks up steam and I think over and over how wrong and terrible tonight’s scene was. “I never wanted you to hear that.”

All of a sudden, she wraps her fingers around my fists and kisses her way up my clenched jaw. I feel her gentle touch clear down to the living, breathing anger inside me.

“I know,” she assures. “And I know everything he said hurts. I’m sorry. Truly. But I understand so much better.”

“What, that I’m fucking broken?” A tear slides down my cheek even as rage keeps my heart pumping in a stomping rhythm. “You knew that. Why the hell is it good that you’ve seen the gory details?”

As I mentally replay every word she overheard, mortification curdles my blood. My father’s beatdown is a brand blackening my soul. He couldn’t have found a more complete way to humiliate me.

“No, he’s broken. You…” I hear a shaking in her voice and risk a glance her way. Tears pour openly from her eyes as she cups my cheek. “You’ve survived. I’m so proud of you.”

At those five words, my knees buckle. I’ve been waiting to hear them from someone my whole life.

I choke back more tears and try to modulate my voice. “He’s left me with a lot of scars.”

“Of course he has,” she says earnestly, right into my eyes with no shame for the emotion she’s spending on me. “But you’re stronger for them. Better. And softer in here.” She places her hand on my chest.

My whole body lurches. I grit my teeth. “I don’t want to be softer!”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Her fingers graze my cheek. “It’s what separates you from him. He will never be capable of caring about the people around him, not even his own children. You’re right that he’ll die alone and unloved. He’s reaping what he’s sown. You have a chance to be different.”