Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

His correction should have made me warm and fuzzy, but those feelings were buried under grief and mourning. “No. I didn’t tell him about any of it.”

“Della…”

“I don’t want him to look at me differently or be put into the middle of it if something goes wrong.”

His nose scrunched. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“I gave her drugs,” I reminded him dryly, not bothering to look at his face which I’m sure was staring at me with an argumentative look. “If she had it on her, my fingerprints would be on them. People would say they saw us together and she was acting strange. I could be—”

“Stop. Stop right there. If you think that anything is going to happen to you, then you’re an idiot. Not when you’ve got somebody like Theo in your life who’d rip the head off anybody who came close to trying to hurt you. I’d know, I was on the receiving end a time or two. He’s protected you for this long. He’ll do it for as long as it takes.”

I parted my lips to disagree, but…didn’t.

“You know I’m right,” he whispered, sitting beside me on the floor. He draped an arm over one of his knees and bumped my closest knee with his. “I may not like the guy all that much, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s good for you. I’d just like to think you’re too good for him.”

I wanted to smile, the temptation was there, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stood up and felt his eyes on me as I dropped the dirty washcloth into the hamper and walked over to the sink to splash cold water onto my warm face and brush my teeth. Hands gripping the edge of the counter, I stared at my reflection, at the deep frown and the pale skin and the distant eyes.

The longer I stared, the more I felt the resemblance of hate growing in my chest. I swore the girl staring back grinned like she knew it was happening, like she was beckoning the negative feelings as if I deserved them.

I didn’t.

I didn’t deserve it.

I raised my hand.

And punched the glass.

“Holy fucking—” Instantly, I was being jerked away from the shards of sharp glass everywhere, my fist aching and bleeding and my bare feet being stabbed by the little pieces that strayed from the mess I’d made—from the reflection of the girl who’d tormented me for so many years.

“Are you insane?” Ren barked, quickly lifting my hand and examining the damage I’d done. I didn’t even look to see what was there, just felt the blood dripping down my wrist and arm until it dropped to the floor. “Goddamn, motherfucking shit. Your feet.” Flustered, Ren told me to stay there as he went back into the bathroom and opened the cabinet the first aid kit was in.

When he didn’t come back right away, I stared down at the droplets of blood next to me on the light hardwood and I heard, “You need to get to Della’s. Now. Yeah, yeah. I’m not your number one fan either, buddy. Just do it.” There was murmured grumbling before he was back by my side. “You’re crazy. Absolutely nuts. But I’ve also decided that I never want to fight you because that was one mean right hook and would probably hurt if it’d been a human on the other side of the blow.”

He shook his head and rambled on as he cleaned me up. The sting of the spray and wipes he used had me hissing, but he ignored them. I deserved it, I realized. The pain.

But I found myself smiling slightly knowing I couldn’t see that girl again. Not for a long time. And when Theo arrived…I was crying for an entirely new reason.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Theo

She was lucky she didn’t need stitches. She was even luckier that I wasn’t around when she decided to put her fist through a mirror because I would have lost it. I wasn’t planning on braiding best friend bracelets with Pretty Boy, or even use his name like she continued to ask of me, but I was grateful for him—that he’d been there for her.

Which begged the question, “Why didn’t you tell me, Della?” Her friend had left hours ago after helping me clean up her bathroom. The dog was fed and curled in a ball on Della’s lap as they sat on the couch, not willing to leave her side when I stepped away to do something. Her hand was wrapped with gauze, her feet bandaged and socked because of the small cuts she’d gotten, but it was her spirit that was burdened. And I understood it. In a way.

“I would have been there,” I continued, setting a plate of food in front of her. Pancakes, eggs, and three pieces of bacon, so she could feed one to the dog despite me scolding her for it. “I told you I would have stayed.” I put the syrup, the real kind, beside the plate to let her put as much as she wanted onto the stack.

“I know you would have,” was the only reply I got in a quiet tone as she stared at the food in front of her.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I didn’t expect much from her. Honesty was never hard to come by when it came to Della because she’d lived too long in the dark from her father’s lies. Which was why hearing about Katrina from Pretty Boy made the sting of not being told firsthand from her feel like a punch to the gut. And the little frat fucker knew by the smile on his face when he delivered the news.

Her hand reached for Ramsay, stroking his fur until he dropped to his side for her to scratch his s

tomach like he loved. “I was afraid to admit I’d done something stupid. I was hoping Ren would…I don’t know. Tell me I did? Tell me I made a mistake?”

“Like punching a mirror wasn’t stupid?”

Her lips twitched upward. “That wasn’t the dumbest thing I’ve done lately, but it wasn’t the best choice.” She gazed at her hand. “I could have stopped her, Theo. If Flamell or somebody finds out—”