Dylan (Inked Brotherhood 4)

But I disconnect, my hand shaking. I glance at the half-empty suitcase, and my eyes burn.

I can’t. I can’t leave. I don’t want to go. I spent my teenage years here in Madison with Aunt Elsie, and although now she’s moved back to Illinois, my friends are more of a family to me than my parents ever were. My parents live in Chicago, but this is my town, my home.

What about asking for a restraining order for Sean? What about facing my parents and telling them to go to hell? What can they do to me that’s worse than me leaving the only home I’ve ever known?

Tears drip off my chin. I wipe them off angrily. Maybe it’s not just them I’m trying to run away from. It’s myself. My past. My need for Dylan, who doesn’t give a damn about me. My need to be good for a family who is never satisfied with me.

Why can’t I be who I am, think what I want and do what I consider right?

Dad’s reprimanding voice echoes in my head. Mom’s sad eyes stare at me from memory, guilting me into accepting their rules, their ideas. Their demands.

I wish they’d accept me as I am. But I’ve waited all my life, deluded myself. They’ll never accept me. They’d much rather pass me on to a man who hurt me for a business deal. For money. That’s what they want for me—a man who’ll control me and direct my life without input from me.

No. I’m not running away. I scrub my hands over my face. Last night was… eye-opening. The bursting of a bubble I tried desperately to keep afloat.

Now I need to figure out my path from here. What to do from now on.

A sound breaks through my glum thoughts. The doorbell.

Frowning, I get to my feet. Who can it be? I thought I convinced Audrey I wouldn’t be in today. As I cross the living room, it strikes me that it could be Sean. Or Dad. Not sure which would be worse.

I hesitate. Slow down. Fear tightens my stomach. No way am I opening that door. I backpedal, intent on returning to my room and locking the door.

“Tess! Are you okay?” A man’s voice, but not Sean’s, or my dad’s. He bangs on the door so hard its hinges creak. “Tessa, open this door.”

“Dylan?” I whisper, shocked into stillness.

He’s still banging on my door. Like in a dream, I start moving forward again. I check through the peephole, and sure enough it’s him, looking ruggedly handsome in his rain jacket, his short hair drenched, his expression tight.

I unlock and open the door. “What’s going on?”

He pushes past me, running a hand through his wet hair, lifting it into small spikes. A blast of cold comes with him, and I hurriedly slam the door closed.

“I had to see you’re okay,” he says, pacing the floor, dripping water all over my carpet. “After what Audrey told me, I had to…”

He stops in front of me, and his brows draw together. It strikes me how dark his brows are for such a blond guy. They make his sky-blue eyes that more intense.

Belatedly I realize those baby blues are fixed on my hands. His face twists. “What the fuck?” he hisses and grabs my wrists.

I can’t help it. I flinch and jerk away, trying to get free. His grip tightens on my wrists, and a whimper of pain escapes me.

“Fuck. Sorry.” He releases me immediately, his jaw grinding. “He did this to you, didn’t he? Last night.”

I look down at my bare, bruised arms and wince, not from pain this time, but because he’s seeing them.

Uncomfortable under his angry, knowing gaze, I take a step back.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter and rub my arms up and down, over the rings of purple, the dark imprints of fingers in my flesh.

“Nothing.” His eyes narrow. His neck is flushed red. A vein ticks on his forehead. “What the hell, Tess?”

“What do you want from me?” I whisper.

“You’ve been crying.” His voice drops, matching mine. “Shit, Tessa. What happened to you?”

Before I know it, his arms are around me, gentle and strong, and like last night, I feel safe and warm.

“Who did this?” he insists to know, his mouth on my hair, on my forehead, leaving burning kisses.