So now here I am, the originator of our only rule, being the one breaking it. I’m the one who went and caught feelings, and by the time we pull up to the hole in the wall diner, I’ve managed to talk myself into feeling like a fucking idiot.
She ran, you moron. Not just from the shitshow that night, but from you. What in the hell makes you think she’s going to want anything to do with you now?
“You coming, bro?” Payne’s question drags me out of my head, and I realize both he and my father are watching me with equal parts concern and amusement.
“Yeah, just give me a few minutes. You guys go in.”
My dad reaches over and gives my shoulder a firm understanding pat before the two of them leave me in the rented SUV and head into The Juneberry. I yank the hat off my head and rake my fingers roughly through my thick hair. Sliding lower in the leather seat, I bounce the back of my skull off the headrest a few times in annoyance.
This whole thing is a mess. Fucking Callum and my mother and their twisted, psychotic bullshit. I will happily admit I had Mrs. Torsten pegged utterly wrong, but the rest of that family? I’ve always hated Callum and Hali. And my mother has always been her own particular brand of nasty-meets-nuts. But how do you get to the point of thinking somebody deserves violence, deserves to be destroyed, not for anything they did, but because you think you’re entitled to punish them just because you can?
Now Stella has been a casualty of their fucked-up games, not once, not twice, but three times.
First, she lived in hiding with her mom for fifteen years.
Second, she became the victim of an attack orchestrated by my mother, Hali, and Bingham the Tool.
And finally, finding out the truth of what drove her mom away from Folkestone ended up driving her away, too.
Grinding my teeth in frustration, I sit forward and jam my hat on backward, focusing on my knees while I clench and unclench my hands.
Dude, you’re Poe fucking Halliday—pull your balls out of the glove compartment and stop being such a pussy. Get out of the damn car, go inside, and tell your girl it’s time to get her ass home. Because who are you kidding? You know you want her.
Slamming the door of the SUV, I stride across the sagging sidewalk that’s seen better days and push into the diner, looking up as the small bells above the entrance announce my arrival. Four heads turn in my direction. One I don’t recognize, two that belong to the people I showed up with, and there’s barely time to register the fourth as the white-blonde blur flies across the room and attacks me with a hug.
“Jesus, Poe. What took you so long?” Sunday asks breathlessly, a scowl on her beautiful face.
Just as I’m about to answer her, she presses her index finger firmly against my lips, holding it there while she speaks and effectively shushes me.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “Stella’s in the back. I think she ran for the restroom; it looked like she was going to throw up when she saw Payne and your dad. Or maybe it was because she didn’t see you. Go through that swinging door to the kitchen and turn right. It’ll be the first room on the left.” Shifting my gaze toward the door, I see the woman I don’t recognize leaning against the back counter. Arms crossed over her chest, she aims a scarily decent stink eye my way.
Sunday follows my line of sight and finally pulls her finger away from my lips, only to pat my cheek with a noticeable amount of force, just shy of making it a flutter of slaps. “Don’t worry about Sally. I’ll handle her,” she promises.
Warily I make my way towards the door to the kitchen, feeling the older woman’s stare on me the whole way and waiting for her to pounce. She may be small, but she looks like she could gouge out an eye or two without a second thought if it meant protecting somebody she cared about.
Following Sunday’s directions, I find the restroom easily enough. Knowing she needs to calm herself down, and also because I’m half terrified she’s going to barrel out of there and throat punch me for daring to show up, I decide to wait for her to come out on her own. Taking up a position directly across from the closed door, my heart thuds nervously as I attempt to look casual, leaning back against the wall.
The muttering and deep breathing suddenly stop, and I hear the water in the sink turn on briefly. Bracing myself, I watch the door swing open, and it feels as if all the air is sucked out of the room.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
Standing in front of me in tight, faded, ripped blue jeans and a black sweatshirt riding low on one shoulder, her gorgeous violet eyes widen in shock when they lock on my face.
“Hey, Star.”
With those two small words that weigh more than almost any others I’ve ever said, she’s across the hall and in my arms, crying an ocean of tears against my chest.
Holding her tightly, I can’t think of a single place I’d rather be.
Chapter Four
As much as a big part of me would like to stay cuddled here indefinitely, I push myself away from Poe’s firm chest and the comforting steady beat of his heart. The large patch of tear-damp fabric over his left pec is a little embarrassing, and I give him an apologetic, watery smile.
“Sorry about—,” I gesture toward his hoodie and sniffle unattractively. Ducking back into the restroom, I yank a tissue from the box Sally keeps on a shelf by the door. “And about this.” Hiccupping, I point a finger at myself briefly before blowing my nose and grabbing another tissue to scrub the inky trails of mascara from my face.
“No need to be sorry about any of that.” He pushes off the wall and moves to the restroom's doorway, reaching to grip the top of the doorframe with both hands and leaning forward slightly.
“That sounded like you think there’s something I need to be sorry about, though.” I stare at the top of his hat as he keeps his head lowered, apparently finding the intricate pattern in the beat-up linoleum fascinating. The silence between us stretches like a wad of sticky bubble gum while we both stand silent, locked in this odd moment of insecurity and uncertainty.
I sniffle again, and he raises his head to look me full in the face, still not moving from his position holding up the doorframe. My breath hitches sharply, partially in surprise, and the rest out of guilt when I see the hurt clouding his eyes because I know in my heart I’m the cause of it.
“You didn’t have to leave that way, you know. I would have left with you, taken you anywhere you wanted to go.” His voice is low, but I hear the accusation and the anger hiding beneath the words loud and clear.
“Yes, I did.” Taking a few steps back, I lean against the pockmarked white porcelain pedestal sink and fold my arms across my chest. Chewing the side of my lower lip, I fight a quick internal battle and abruptly realize I’m so fucking tired of keeping everything bottled up. Before I can formulate the best way to say what I need to, the words just tumble out of my mouth. “I couldn’t stand the mix of pity and disgust I knew I’d see in your eyes. In everyone’s eyes.”
Rage and embarrassment rise up the sides of my neck to my face, flushing the skin of my too-pale cheeks.
“I started out as just the charity case, dragged to town by her lonely aunt to fulfill some sort of familial obligation. That probably would have faded in time. But that night, I became Poor Little Stella. The trash bag daughter of a missing on-the-run mother and the sadistic fuckwad who raped her and beat her bloody in a dirty barn eighteen years ago. I mean, that is what happened, right? That is who I am?”