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I want to be sick myself seeing him this way, wasted on the floor. This is not the man I grew up adoring.

He grabs onto my leg. “You’re such a good kid, Kenzi,” he slurs.

“You’re a mess.”

He rolls over away from me. “I’ll never be good enough.”

Grabbing his arm, I try to tug him up, but he’s way too heavy for me. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about, but you’re getting off this floor and taking a shower. Now.”

I manage to heave him up into a sitting position and he slumps against the wall, trying to focus on me. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair a mess, and he’s gone at least a week without shaving.

“You’re the only one who really loves me, Angel,” he says sadly.

Turning the shower head on, I pull the curtain closed so the floor doesn’t get drenched.

“That’s not true at all. Get your ass in that shower and then into bed so I can clean this mess you made. If I catch you like this again, I’m telling my father. We’re not going to let you do this to yourself.”

Tor

She hauled ass out of my truck like a cyclone and slammed the door so hard behind her I’m surprised the airbag didn’t blow.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I fucked up huge.

I’ve fucked up a lot in my life. And that, my friends, was the biggest fuckup ever.

I’ve been sitting on my couch for over an hour, in complete darkness and silence, volleying between wanting to get drunk off my ass on some hardcore liquor, calling up Sydni or Lisa and fucking the shit out of them to make myself forget what I just did, or puking my guts out. But what I really want to do is call her and hear her voice. Or better yet, see her again. After what happened, I have an intense need to know if I’ve affected her. Will her voice sound shaky and nervous or will it have that new wistfulness I’ve caught glimpses of in the past few weeks? Is she hiding in her room like I am, ashamed and confused? Or is she laying on her bed wearing one of my many shirts, with rainbow fuzzy socks on her feet, a faint smile on her lips, thinking about me? Possibly wanting me?

Fuck me. I want to kiss her again.

Kenzi.

My niece-by-association. My best friend’s daughter. My little partner in crime for the past seventeen years.

I kissed her like a fucking deranged animal and she let me. In fact, it felt an awful lot like she enjoyed it.

She welcomed it.

I lean my head into my hands and push my fingers into my skull.

No, asshole. She didn’t want it. She couldn’t want it. You scared the shit out of her. She’s just a kid.

It was an accident, conjured up from the emotions of the situation. She was scared after watching me running through traffic and I was high on adrenaline and it all created some wacked out reaction between us. That’s all it was.

Nothing else.

Nothing. Else.

Standing, I pace the dark room like a caged bear. What if she tells Asher? He’ll fucking kill me. And if he does? I deserve it. I’ll let him kill me. I won’t even fight back.

She won’t tell him, though. She would talk to me first. Which she tried to do, and I wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t. Because I’m a douche, just like Sydni and Lisa told me I was. I don’t communicate. And here’s a big fucking reminder of how true that is staring me right in the face.

There’s a bottle of whiskey hidden in my closet in case of emergencies and major fuckups like this. My skin is crawling with the intense need to drink the entire thing and pass out cold to forget what I did.

Instead, I yank my phone out of my back pocket and hover my finger over the keyboard. I can’t avoid her like I’ve done to others in the past. If I’m this fucked in the head right now, what the hell is she feeling? I probably scared her to death, and I can’t let her feel that way.

I type out a quick, nervous text:

Me: Angel…you okay?

Five agonizing minutes pass while I sit on my bedroom floor and stare at my closet door.

Kenzi: Yes. Are you? I hope you washed that road rash on your hand and leg so you don’t get infected.

God. Why does she always try to take care of me?

Me: I will.

Kenzi: Have you heard any news on the big fluffy dog?

Me: Not yet.

Kenzi: I like him a lot. He just wanted love, even though he was hurt and lost. He reminds me of you.

My chest contracts.

Me: Ya think?

Kenzi: Yup.

Me: I’m sorry I scared you.

Kenzi: You never scare me, Tor.

Shit. Wrong answer, little girl. Wrong.Fucking.Answer.

Kenzi: Maybe you’re scared.