Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

DECLAN

A s soon as I hear the shower turn off in the bathroom I share with Harper, I test the knob of my connection door to see if it’s locked. I count to thirty to give her time to dry off before opening the door. A cloud of vanilla-scented steam escapes as she yelps in surprise.

She’s clutching a white towel to her chest. It only covers her down the front where it naturally lays. Her sides, which are what I want a look at, are exposed. Her mouth gapes open as water drops from clumps of her hair .

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?” She takes a step back as I close the door behind me and prowl toward her.

Since it’s fairly obvious what I’m doing, I choose to ignore her question. “What the fuck is on your side?”

Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide the scars. “Nothing. Get out.”

“No.”

I’m in her space now. She tries to fight me off from nudging the towel over, but she can’t do much without dropping the entire thing to the floor. Her skin is still hot from her shower, but as I run my fingertips over two of the circles, her flesh erupts with goosebumps.

“Let me get my pajamas on, and I’ll let you get a better look.” Her voice sounds resigned to having to have this conversation.

I turn and walk into her room, dropping down onto her bed to wait for her to finish drying off and changing. Every muscle in my body is vibrating with rage as I sit. Part of me hoped that Cy was just confused or something. I should have known that he of all people would be able to see and identify them.

It takes her about five minutes, but she finally comes out in a pair of shorts and a t- shirt. Her hair is coiled up in a towel on top of her head. She crosses over to me and slowly tucks her shirt under her breasts leaving all the skin of her abdomen bare.

Cy was right; there are dozens of cigarette burn scars dotting her sides. Some are extremely faded, like they must have happened when she was a girl. Others are still pink and somewhat fresh.

“Who did this to you?” There’s an obvious answer, but I need to hear it from her lips.

“My dad.”

I wrap my hands around her waist, my thumbs moving over her damaged skin gently. “You didn’t deserve this.” I look up into her eyes. “You know that, right? There’s nothing you could have done to deserve this.”

She nods as she blinks away tears she won’t let fall.

“Did Banks know?” The question is laced with an angry growl.

“No, I never told him. And he has never seen me exposed. No one really has. Not like you have now.”

“And Cyrus.”

She shakes her head. “I wore a shirt.”

“He saw them when he woke up.”

Surprise flickers in her eyes. “So he told you?”

“I walked into the gym to find him bloody from going at the bag for fuck knows how long without tape or gloves on his hands. He told me why he was pissed.”

“At me?”

“At your piece of shit father.” I grab her shirt and pull it down for her. “He has his own history with trauma and abuse. I think seeing you set him off.”

She nods and walks over to the window. “I don’t want people to see them. I know that what he did was wrong, but he’d tell me why I deserved the punishment.” She pulls the gauzy curtains to the side, letting the setting sun illuminate her with warm light. “I hate thinking and talking about it.”

“Nothing you did warranted abuse.” I cross the room to stand beside her, lifting her chin with my fingers until her eyes lock with mine. “Tell me you know that.”

Her eyes look molten in the golden rays shining softly over us, amber swirling with gold and olive flecks. “I do.”

My gaze moves from her eyes down to her pink lips. She angles her body, so we’re in the perfect position for me to take what I want. To finally know what those lips would feel like against mine. Her eyes flutter closed as I move closer to her. Just as my lips brush against hers, her phone rings .

She jumps and takes a step back, the moment broken. “I better get that.” She steps around me and answers the phone.

I don’t stick around to find out who she’s talking to. Instead, I’m on a mission to find my father and see if he knows about the abuse. If Annabelle knew and didn’t stop Scott, there will be hell to pay. I check both of their bedrooms upstairs but don’t see anyone, so I take the front staircase down to the main level. Neither of them are in the kitchen or living room. I know they wouldn’t be in the game room, so that leaves Dad’s office or the formal living room.

It’s in Dad’s office where I find them. I almost turn right back around out of sheer shock. Dad has Annabelle pressed against the bookcase with his hand around her throat while they kiss. They’re so in their moment that it’s not until I clear my throat that they break apart.

Dad drops his hand immediately, and Annabelle looks at me like a deer in headlights. She turns bright red and side steps out from between my father and the shelves. I give her the courtesy of not staring as she walks past me.

“Mixing business with pleasure, I see,” I say as soon as I hear the door click behind me. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What do you need?” He walks over to his bar cart and pours himself a couple fingers of whiskey.

“Did you know that Scott burnt Harper with cigarettes?”

Dad spins. “Come again?”

“Harper’s sides and abdomen are covered in dozens of cigarette burn scars.”

“I had no idea. There was no record of physical abuse toward Harper in any of the research I got before approaching Annabelle.”

“Did he do anything like that to her?”

My dad’s eyes darken. “The abuse she suffered was of a different nature.”

“And she’s never mentioned anything about it to you? About Harper?”

“No. She shielded Harper as best she could. At least she thought she did.” He pours me a glass and hands it to me.

“What are we going to do about it?”

“I’m working on it.” He drinks the whiskey in two gulps, wincing at the burn when he sets his empty glass now. “But he deserves much worse than anything I can do.”

Harper and Annabelle spent the day shopping while Dad and I played a round of golf with two of his business associates. I play an awful game because all I could think about was how close I came to kissing Harper last night. That brush of our lips was the most tantalizing experience I’ve ever had.

Thinking about her continuing to explore her newfound sexuality with Cyrus doesn’t make me angry, it makes me want to open the door to that for us as well. I trust Cyrus. I know he has a complicated relationship with Emerson, one that involves hookups, but they’ve never pushed each other to talk about it. It’s like it happens and then it’s out of sight, out of mind until it happens again. I do worry that Harper might not be as comfortable with that as they are.

She’s open-minded, especially considering her background, but I don’t know if she’s just going through a rebellious phase where she wants to do all the things she couldn’t before. Or if she really wants to explore her sexuality. I hope it’s the latter and that she’ll be open to me being part of it. I hate to think of how awful it would be to have to watch from the outside looking in .

My jealousy of anyone who has touched or kissed her seems to grow every moment that we’re apart. It comes to a boil when we pull up and see Banks’s obnoxious orange Challenger sitting in front of the house. I wonder if it was his call that interrupted us last night.

Sure enough he’s sitting at the island while Harper kneads a lump of dough across from him. He watches her every move like he’s been starved for her company. Good. Even if he’s not competition for a physical relationship, he’s someone she loves very much.

She’s wearing one of our chef’s aprons over her pink silk skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater. Her ever-present ribbon is tied to her hair. It’s absurdly cute.

Annabelle is adding red wine to a pot when she notices us. “Oh, perfect timing. You’ll have just enough time to shower and change for dinner.”

“What are we having? It smells delicious.” Dad walks over to her and gives her a forehead kiss.

Harper sees it happen and smiles softly. I wonder if her mom talked to her about what’s going on between our parents. Either way, it’s nice to see her happy.

“Braised short ribs, mashed potatoes, roasted veggies, and Harper is making her famous dinner rolls.”

“Famous dinner rolls?” I ask with a quirked brow.

“Only at our church,” she replies with an eye roll.

“Harper is a great baker,” Banks says. “I’m surprised she hasn’t baked for you yet. It was one of the first things she did for me when we started dating.”

“Her job isn’t to cook for us.” I glare at him. “It’s to get an education and enjoy life.”

“Never said it was.” He holds his hands up. “She’s just always liked baking as a hobby.”

“She’s taken up running with Cyrus.”

“Running?” Banks looks questioningly at her. “Since when did you start running?”

She shrugs. “I started on the ranch back in Texas. It was an easy thing to do to blow off steam.”

“Guess you don’t know everything there is to know about her.”

She glowers at me. “You better go shower. Dinner will be ready soon.”

I don’t want to leave her alone with him, but the sooner I get cleaned up, the better.