Chapter 114
S liding my phone out of my pocket, I see a text notification from Declan on my home screen. My heart races, and I ignore it, turning my attention to taking pictures of Lily as everyone sings her “Happy Birthday.” I haven’t thought about him in weeks. Why is he texting me?
Adam isn’t singing. He’s glaring at me. Fuck. He saw that notification too. Focused on my task, I snap more pictures as Lily blows out her candles. As everyone claps, Adam pulls me by the hand into the kitchen.
“Show me that text.”
I shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s not like I’ve been texting Declan. I haven’t spoken to him since he declined my booty call.
“Okay,” I sass, unlocking my phone. I’m going to fucking die. I could die of a heart attack right here, right now. I might actually die of a heart attack. Not from the benign text Declan sent, but at the text before it. “Come over.” I never deleted it. Fuck. Me.
I put my phone in my back pocket, trying not to show any reaction on my face. “It said ‘nice driving.’ He must have seen us on the highway.”
Adam’s jaw clenches. “Show me your fucking phone,” he whispers angrily. I almost say something until Adam says, “I know when you’re lying to me.”
“Let’s table this until we’re not at Lily’s birthday party.” My heart is nearly beating out of my chest. “I’ll show you my phone when we get back.” Adam firmly grabs my arm, pulling me closer, then takes my phone out of my back pocket. “Don’t,” I warn.
“Passcode,” he seethes.
“Not here.”
“I’m breaking up with you right now if you don’t give me your passcode,” he says with so much seriousness in his voice.
You’re probably going to break up with me after you see what’s there. “Later. Not here.”
Adam squeezes my biceps firmly, tugging me forward. “Ow!” My mind flashes back to Sorin.
“Passcode!”
“Zero. Nine. Zero. One,” I say, nearly winded at how fast my heart is beating and all that’s happening right now.
“Your birthday,” he mutters under his breath, letting go of my arm. I rub it. That grip was too tight.
“Come over,” he reads, and I want to die. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts.
He promised he wouldn’t scream like that again. “Shh! We’re at a kids’ party. Calm down!”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he says, raising his arm with my phone in his hand, and I get the sudden fear that he is going to hit me in the head with it.
My mind replays Sorin throwing his phone at me after he received a photo of Declan and me at Kent’s party.
Then it flashes to Sorin slamming the butt of the knife into my temple after he cut me.
“Are you fucking cheating on me?” Adam yells too loudly.
“I’m not cheating on you!” I whisper-yell, swatting his arm down. “It was impulsive. I was so mad at you. I just wanted someone to love me. But no one wanted me … he said no.”
“What if he said yes?”
I don’t know how to respond. It would have happened if he said yes … but … Adam throws my phone, and I flinch. The phone hits the exposed glassware on the wall behind me, causing the sound of glass breaking to fill the room.
Stunned, I have no words. This violent outburst fills me with dread. It’s my worst nightmare about him.
I knew this would happen, but I wanted so badly to believe it wouldn’t. Declan’s fucking warnings, Greg’s warning …
Rage quickly turns to regret in his face as I walk backward, away from him, wiping the tears that are already falling from my face.
“Dani,” he follows. “I’m sorry.”
“No! Stay away from me! I don’t feel safe.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re making this about yourself right now?”
Eric comes in, panic on his face. “What the fuck is going on?” he whisper-yells at Adam, glancing around and noticing the glass on the floor.
“Sorry. I’ll buy whatever broke.”
“You can’t buy your way out of every fucking problem.” I scoff.
“Let’s go.” Adam grabs my arm, but I yank it away.
“I am not getting in a car with you!”
“Adam,” Eric says cautiously, positioning himself between Adam and me. It’s a tone I’ve heard in my mother’s voice so many times—the handler’s voice. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“You’re kicking me out?” He laughs, cocky. “You can’t kick me out of a house I own.”
“Don’t ruin Lily’s birthday any further. Go home.”
Adam glares at me. “You better not text him back.”
“Or what?” I whisper-scream, my rage boiling over as Eric starts to push him toward the door.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Adam growls at him.
“Adam. You need to leave.”
“We’re done,” I say. “You broke your promise.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” he whisper-yells, swatting Eric’s hands away.
“Yes! You need to fucking figure your shit out.”
“I could say the same about you.” Eric puts his hands back on Adam’s chest as he tries to step closer to me.
“Fucking leave already!” I say through tears. “No one wants you here.”
Adam shakes his head. “I’ll call you tomorrow after we’ve both cooled down.”
“Don’t.”
His blue eyes, which I used to find so sexy but now don’t recognize, take in my seriousness and how serious Eric is as he starts pushing him toward the door.
Adam begins to cry. I’ve never seen him cry.
I’ve never even seen his eyes well up. I hate him right now, and I hate that I want to hug him.
Most of all, I hate myself. I started this.
“I’m sorry, Dani. Sorry, Eric. I’ll tell Lily I’m sorry when I call her tomorrow.” He looks back and forth between us, seeing the sadness and disappointment in both our eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters, exiting through the kitchen door.
“Are you okay?” Eric asks after Adam is gone.
I nod, even though my body clearly says I’m not. I’m shaking. Eric pours me a glass of water, and I sip it, trying to stop the tears and calm down.
“It’s my fault,” I finally say. “I’m sorry. I owe Lily, too.”
Eric exhales, leaning on the kitchen counter. “He’s never hit you …” He barely makes out the statement that is actually a question.
I shake my head, and he nods the smallest amount. “I thought he was …” He trails off. “I haven’t seen that side of him in a long time.” Now Eric looks like he might cry. “He’s forty-four fucking years old and still breaking shit every time something doesn’t go his way.”
I look around the kitchen, seeing all the broken glass. “I’ll get it,” Eric says.
“I’ll call an Uber,” I say, picking up my phone from the floor. The screen is cracked and won’t turn on.
“Let me,” Eric says, pulling his phone from his back pocket.
“I feel so bad. I’ll babysit or take her to a museum or something to help make up for it.”
“This is his mess to clean up. Not yours,” Eric says, and all the meanings come through.