“Dad, stop,” Fi cuts in with a hard tone. “Yelling at Ethan won’t change anything.”

“It’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I trusted you to protect her.”

“I know,” I manage past the lump in my throat. “You aren’t saying anything I’m not saying to myself.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Fi says. She sounds remote, her gaze lackluster. “It was that opportunistic bimbo’s doing. Let it go.”

Sean runs a hand through his hair. “Look, why don’t you pack a bag? Come back to New York while this blows over.”

At that, my hands grasp Fi’s shoulders. “Like hell.”

“You don’t get a say anymore, Dexter. Not after you fucked up her life.”

The truth of his words is an ugly blow but not enough to keep me quiet. “I appreciate that you are upset, Sean, but there’s no way I’m letting you take Fi out of here. I’m not letting her face this alone.”

He growls in disgust. “Because you’ve done such a fine job of caring for her so far?”

Fi shrugs out of my grip, stepping away from me. She might as well have ripped my hands off. She doesn’t even look my way as she moves closer to her dad. Away from me. I want to snatch her back, haul her out of this room and back to our bed.

“Dad,” she says with a soft sigh. “I need you to go home.”

He blinks at her like she’s not speaking his language.

Ivy and Gray slowly walk out of the kitchen as if they can’t keep hidden for this. Sean doesn’t notice. “Fiona—”

“I’m sorry,” she cuts in. “I know you want to help. But you being here, saying these things to Ethan. It just makes everything more real. More…humiliating.” Her small hand shakes as she runs it through her hair in a gesture just like her dad’s. “I can’t handle real now, okay? I want to be left alone.”

Her dull gaze slides to Ivy and Gray. “You too. I’m so grateful that you guys came here for me, but now I want you to go.”

Ivy nods, her expression broken. “Okay, Fi. We’ll give you space.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Sean starts, only to be cut off by Fi again.

“Please, Daddy. I can’t.” Her chin quivers, but she stays firm. “I need this. Please go now.”

I feel sorry for the guy; he looks gutted. For a second we all stand there, no one making a sound. And then Sean sighs. “All right, Fiona. I’ll go.”

He moves like the walking wounded, slowly gathering his phone from the table. Gray clears his throat. “We’ll go with you, Sean.”

Ivy looks around as if she suddenly doesn’t know which way is out. “I’ll just… There’s coffee, and I baked you a pecan pie, and…right.” Her gaze goes to Fi, but she doesn’t make any move to hug her as if she knows Fi won’t want it now. “Call me, okay?”

“Okay.” Fi stares at the floor, her body stiff, her arms clutching her middle. She looks so small and defeated, I’m crushed all over again. I murmur my goodbyes but keep my eyes on Fi.

It isn’t until we’re alone in the silent house that I move to hold her. But her hand swipes up, coming between us. “I meant it,” she says. “I want to be alone for a while.”

Leaving her alone goes against every instinct I have. But I do it. Because whatever Fi wants, I’ll give to her.

Chapter Forty

Dex

Walking down the dark tunnel from the locker room toward the bright light of the field beyond is an activity I’ve always paid attention to. I think a lot of guys do. And it sounds crazy, but the imagery is unavoidable—the dawn of a new game, a new opportunity to change your fate, to win.

It’s different at halftime. You can be on top of the world, kicking ass, or lower than sludge, down by horrific numbers, or somewhere in between. In those minutes, those steps between cool darkness and harsh brightness, you make a decision within yourself—quit or to keep fighting.

All the inspirational speeches, tongue lashings, or hand clapping can’t do it for you. It’s something every man has to find in himself. Sure, we’re a team. But no matter how you cut it, a team is made up of individuals, and is only as strong as its weakest link.

I’m almost at the end of the tunnel when it comes to Fi. I can see the light and the possibilities of us. But right now, it’s fucking dark. I’m afraid for her. She’s been battered by this shit, and I don’t know how to fix it.

God, I want to fix it. I want to keep her safe, shelter her from all this ugliness. Just keep her. Forever. She’s mine. Mine to protect.

But I give her the space she asks for. Fucking hate that word now. Space just means I’m alone in my courtyard, and Fi is holed up in our room, napping. That’s all she does now: nap.

And I can’t snap her out of it. She doesn’t want to go out—not that I can blame her. Far too many people recognize her now for all the wrong reasons. It probably isn’t a good idea anyway, considering I’m likely to beat the shit out of someone if they make the wrong remark.

I try to entice her to at least come out of the room, watch a movie, work out with me, anything. Sex is out of the question. She changes in the bathroom and crawls under the covers before I can get near her. She always cuddles close in at night, but if I try to touch her in any way that’s sexual, she freezes.

When I ask what’s wrong, she shakes her head and says the same thing. “I just keep thinking of all those people looking at me naked. It turns my skin, Ethan.”