Chapter 33

Indie's gaze skitters away from mine, something vulnerable and haunted shadowing her delicate features. She looks almost like a startled doe poised for flight. "I don't?—"

"Don't bullshit me, darling," I interrupt, though keeping my tone gentle. "I witnessed a pretty major panic attack back there. You completely lost it because I triggered something."

"Me . . . I . . ." She swallows hard. "I had a bad . . ."

"Experience?" I prompt softly when she trails off.

Indie shakes her head jerkily, brown waves tumbling over her shoulders. "I can't even call it a breakup. There was this older guy I thought I . . . loved." She hugs her slim arms around herself in a protective gesture. "Remember I told you how my parents were high school sweethearts?"

I tip my head curiously. "What does that have to do with?—"

"I thought I had that with him, you know?" Indie plunges on raggedly. "He paid attention to me and I was just so stupidly in love I didn't realize he didn't actually give two fucks about me." Her voice drips bitterness and shame.

She doesn't look at me when she tells me about this guy, and how excited she was when he finally paid attention to her. An inexperienced teenager who had been longing after him. I don't move when she tells me about the night he visited her in New York. The intensity of the first exciting kiss and how it built into a disastrous moment . . . her saying no, her pleas for him to stop and how he left, disregarding her feelings.

Now I'm the one trying to breathe normally. My hands clench into tight fists as the implication of her fragmented words sinks in. Red haze clouds my vision, fury boiling hotly in my veins at what was done to her.

"If I hadn't—" Indie whispers, a single tear slipping down her pale cheek.

"Indie, none of that was your fault," I interrupt gently but firmly.

She shakes her head jerkily, self-recrimination twisting her delicate features. "For years I threw myself at him. I should've known better."

I grasp her slender shoulders, ducking my head to catch her lowered gaze. "You said no and asked him to stop. That's the only thing that matters." My voice brooks no argument.

"But—"

"You don't want to see yourself as a victim here. I understand that." I choose each word carefully. "But what he did wasn't okay. You did nothing wrong."

Indie presses her trembling lips together. "I just don't want to feel so broken again. But sometimes everything comes flooding back anyway." Her whispered confession twists like a knife in my chest.

My alarm beeps then, reminding me I need to pick up Myra soon. I glance reluctantly down at my watch, then back up at Indie. If I walk away now, she might shut down completely or spiral into another panic attack alone. The thought makes my decision easy.

"You're coming with me," I say decisively.

Indie avoids my gaze, arms wrapped protectively around her middle. "I have things to do." Her tone is dull.

I rake a hand roughly through my hair. "You shouldn't be alone right now. Come with me, just for a bit."

Her delicate jaw firms stubbornly even as she appears to draw inward emotionally. "I'm perfectly fine," she insists through gritted teeth. "I'm an independent woman who doesn't need a man to dictate her life."

I draw a deep steadying breath. "As much as I want to respect your independence, you either come with me now or I'll call your family so they can keep you company instead." I keep my voice gentle, but my words allow no argument. I'm not leaving her when she's teetering so emotionally.

"Leave," she insists.

"You're so fucking maddening, Indie," I bite out, grabbing my phone to scroll for a number. "Who should I call—Lyric or Harper?"

"Why are you doing this?"

That's a great question because this shouldn't be my problem, but when it comes to Indie everything seems to be important. This situation . . . It's killing me not knowing what to do or say. Should I search for my old therapist from college? I know how to deal with my demons, but someone else's . . . Well, that is completely out of my depth.

I squarely meet her wounded gaze. "Because I care, alright?" I force the admission out roughly. "We're friends now and I want to look after you."

I wave the phone meaningfully. "So either you come willingly or I start dialing your sisters. Your choice."

She closes her eyes and says, "Fine, I'm going but make no mistake, I'm doing this against my better judgment."

I tuck my phone away as relief hits me that she's agreed. "So I'm guessing your family doesn't actually know about . . . him." I watch her face closely. "This is why you freaked out when I asked about your need for animal companions, right?"

Her jaw firms stubbornly, lips pressing into a thin line. "I said stop digging, Brynes," she repeats in a clipped tone, moving briskly to collect her shoes and Rigby's leash, clearly eager to leave. "We're going in my car since Rigby is coming along."

I open up my palm placatingly."Sure, where are the keys?"

She glares at my hand and then at me. "I can drive."

"Humor me, darling, and give me your car keys, please," I cajole lightly, but I have no intention of letting her drive in this state.

Her eyes narrow. "Stop calling me that. We're not friends and there won't be any benefits," she bites out.

I want to argue that last part, my gaze dropping briefly to her lips before I catch myself, but after what I just found out I know I can't pursue anything further until I'm certain she's actually open to it.

"You don't get to take away the friendship card, Indie," I admonish gently. "Now let's head out, we don't have much time left." I gesture toward the door, determined to get us moving.

"What about Myra's party?"

I exhale heavily as I consider it. I don't even know if I should still have the party at this point. If Anastasia plans on fighting me for custody this could blow everything up, and I need to prepare myself and Myra for that possibility. Starting with finding a good child therapist in case things get ugly.

I huff out a mirthless laugh under my breath. When will my life ever just be quiet and normal?

Never, answers a wry voice inside my head.

It's always been a roller coaster where I look at everyone's lives and everyone is shitting rainbows and hearts. Me, I can't get a fucking break, I think bitterly. When I glance at Indie, I wonder why I'm even bothering with pursuing her. She's so out of my league and even with the demons she's dealing with, she'll eventually find happiness just like the rest—and be far away from me.

"She loves unicorns," Indie says suddenly. "I can ask Teddy to make it all about unicorns—at your house."

I scrub a hand roughly over my jaw, conflicted. "We shouldn't do that. What if my sister shows up that day and makes a scene?"

"Then we'll find another place to celebrate her," Indie suggests gently. She touches my arm lightly. "Myra will still have her big party and that day you can relax and enjoy it with her, no matter what happens."

I feel myself softening under her reassuring tone and gentle touch. And even when she's so out of my league, she makes me feel like things aren't as shitty. But how long is this feeling going to linger?

It'll be gone soon. Nikki, my last girlfriend, left me when I brought Myra to our lives. She wasn't going to raise someone else's child. Her or me, she said. She left me the next day.

We're already on the road when Indie finally speaks up. "Is this why you said love is disappointing?"

"What?"

"Your mom doesn't seem very loving, then your sister abandoned her daughter . . ." She pauses, looking over at me searchingly. "What about your dad?"

"Who knows? I never went looking for him," I say tightly, hands gripped on the steering wheel.

"Love isn't always like that," she says gently, reaching over to give my arm a supportive squeeze. "You just haven't found the right person yet."

Her words burrow deep within me, igniting a spark in a long-dormant corner of my heart. It's an inexplicable shift, a stirring of something unnamed yet it has been lying dormant for years—maybe an eternity. I find myself gripped by a sudden impulse to halt the relentless march of time, to stop the car and bridge the gap between us with more than just words.

The urge to pull her close, to feel the heat of her breath against my skin, to taste the truth with a kiss, becomes urgent.

But maybe I'm just reacting because I'm vulnerable and the past hour has been an exchange of emotional truths and heart-wrenching tragedies.

For a moment, I entertain the possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, she's right. Or even more terrifying and exhilarating is the thought that perhaps she's the one who can save me from a life half-lived.

Before I can think better of it, I reach over and take her hand, bringing it to my lips. I press a soft kiss to her knuckles, feeling her intake of breath.

"Indie . . ." Her name escapes me in a ragged whisper.

She gives my hand a squeeze. "It's okay," she says gently.

I run my thumb over the back of her hand, wishing I could freeze this moment. But eventually I force myself to let go, returning both hands to the wheel. We drive on in charged silence, the ghost of a kiss that hasn't happened lingering between us.