Chapter 4 #2
She closes the door and locks it with a soft click that lands in my spine, stating, "You decided to come."
"If you call locking me in an SUV a choice, then yes."
Her mouth curves slightly. "And yet you followed every instruction."
"Why am I here?" I snap.
She walks farther into the room, slow and unhurried, taking in the space like she's evaluating her own taste. "Because I needed a setting where you couldn't run to your rules."
"My rules?" I ask.
"The ones you hide behind," she says, and stops a few feet from me. "The ethics. The boundaries. The professional posture. All the ways you pretend you're separate from your impulses."
Heat crawls low in my abdomen, unwelcome and immediate, because she knows exactly how to speak to that part of a man and make him react without touching him. It's not flirtation in the conventional sense. It's pressure applied with precision.
She's eerily like Blue.
I keep my expression steady. "You didn't drag me here to talk about impulses."
"I dragged you here to talk about Blue," she says, and the name lands sharp and clean.
My throat tightens. "Where is she?"
Demi's gaze stays locked on mine. "Safe."
"Define safe."
"She's not bleeding. She's not in a cell. She's not being interrogated by men who enjoy the sound of her voice breaking."
My hands curl into fists at my sides. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you get right now."
I step so close to her that her clean and expensive perfume flares. She doesn't flinch or retreat. Instead, she steps closer. Amusement fills her expression.
"You're trying to get a reaction out of me," I say.
She corrects, "I'm trying to get honesty."
"Honesty about what?"
"About love," she answers, her tone calm, as if she's ordering off a menu. "And about sex. And about the thing men do when they confuse those two."
I let out a slow breath. "This is ridiculous."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Is it?"
I cross my arms. "You brought me to the middle of nowhere to have a conversation about love and sex?"
Demi shifts her weight, crossing her arms loosely. "I know what Blue does when she's scared, or lonely, or thinks no one is coming."
"You know?" I ask, my chest tightening.
Her face turns serious. She nods and quietly declares, "I saw her hip, and she told me."
"Then why didn't you get her help?" I snarl.
She holds her hands in the air. "Whoa! Don't shoot the messenger! I tried to get her to go to therapy, but she wouldn't. She is an adult, you know."
I scowl.
Demi's mouth lifts. "You want to protect her, but you don't want to admit what you are to her."
"I'm her therapist," I say, and the words taste wrong in my mouth now because the role doesn't fit the reality anymore.
"You were her therapist. Now, you're the man she reaches for. Aren't you?"
I hold her gaze. "What do you want from me, Demi?"
Her voice drops slightly, not soft, just intimate enough to change the air. "I want to know if you're going to hurt her."
"I'm not."
Demi studies me, eyes tracking my face, my posture, and my hands. "Men say that and mean it in the moment."
"I've never had any desire to hurt Blue. I've only wanted to help her," I firmly assert.
She tilts her head, studying me. "Then answer my question. Do you love her?"
My chest tightens. Not because the question is hard to understand. Because it demands something I can't give cleanly without destroying someone.
If I say yes, I become evidence in a war I don't fully see.
If I say no, I become the blade Blue will press against her own skin when she's alone.
So I keep my voice even. "I'm not answering that."
Demi's eyes sharpen. "Because you don't know?"
"Because the answer isn't yours."
"It is if my family is going to decide whether you survive," she says, and the casual delivery makes it worse.
I take a half step back, the first retreat I've given her, and it irritates me. "Your family?"
She clarifies, "My father and the men who still think they own what their daughters touch."
I keep my face controlled. "You're threatening me."
She shakes her head. "No. I'm warning you. There's a difference."
Silence stretches. The lake moves behind her in the window's reflection.
Demi continues, "Blue doesn't separate sex from attachment. She can't. She's wired for intensity. If you give her your body and withhold your commitment, she'll interpret that as punishment."
My throat tightens again. "You need to mind your own business."
Demi's smile turns thin. "Blue is my business."
"She's my business, not yours," I snap.
Demi steps closer again, invading space with calm confidence. "How?"
"How?" My pulse spikes.
"How is she your business and not mine when I'm her cousin and best friend?" Demi pushes.
My hands flex at my sides, then settle. I declare, "I don't have any ill wishes or motivations toward Blue."
Demi's gaze holds mine. "I'm the one who cleans up blood when men break promises."
"I didn't promise her anything."
Demi's eyes narrow. "That's the problem."
The tension in the room shifts, sharpened by truth. Demi's face stays composed, but a flash of irritation, or maybe it's concern, appears. Then she quickly controls it.
I point out, "You're trying to corner me."
"Blue doesn't need a man who takes from her and calls it healing."
Anger flares hot under my skin. "You don't get to speak about healing when you knew she hurt herself and didn't get her help!"
Demi's mouth curves again. She challenges, "I get to speak about whatever I want. That's why you're here and not still in your apartment."
I hold her gaze, refusing to buckle under her interrogating stare. I state, "You brought me here to ask questions? You could've done this anywhere."
"No. You'd have distractions. You'd have your phone. You'd have traffic noise, neighbors, and excuses. Here, it's just you and the truth you keep trying to bury," she claims.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. "What do you want to hear?"
She narrows her gaze. "I want to hear you take responsibility. Not as a therapist. As a man."
I stare at her, and the quiet realization lands in my chest with a strange weight. Demi's loyalty isn't soft or warm. It's sharp, transactional, and built for survival. But it's as real as real gets.
So I offer, "Our situation is complex. We're figuring it out."
"So you're not running?"
My heart races faster. I don't hesitate, admitting, "No. I already tried to run from Blue."
Demi steps back suddenly, breaking the proximity. "Good. You're not stupid."
I frown. "What?"
"I stocked the kitchen with Blue's favorite food." She turns and walks toward the hallway, footsteps steady.
"Demi," I call after her.
She pauses at the edge of the front door and looks over her shoulder. "You have twenty-four hours. Don't waste them pretending you're still in charge." She walks out of the house.
My chest rises and falls hard. I whip open the door, and anger simmers under my skin.
She gets into an SUV, and it takes off.
Demi wanted to prove she can come and go at will, and I can't stop her.
I'm about to shut the door when the SUV comes back into view. I freeze, wondering what Demi wants now.
Blue jumps out of the SUV and runs toward me, her hair loose, eyes wide with tears.
I don't move, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
The SUV takes off before she reaches me. She throws her arms around me, crying out, "Red!"