Page 17 of Dirty Sweet Daddy

"Please, Kate." My voice cracks on her name. "Just…give me some space. I need to clear my head."

I don't wait for her response. I can't. If I stay in this room with her another minute, looking at her tear-stained face, I'll take everything back. I'll gather her in my arms and promise her the world, consequences be damned.

Instead, I grab my keys from the side table and head for the door. Running again, like the coward I am. But this time I tell myself it's not selfish. This time, I'm running to protect her, not myself.

As I start the car, I catch a glimpse of her in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, watching me leave. The sight carves something vital out of my chest.

I'm a monster for wanting her. For taking her. For ruining her.

But as I drive away, I wonder if I'm not a worse monster for leaving her.

eleven

. . .

Kate

I watch Lucas's car disappear down the driveway, my heart shattering with each yard of distance he puts between us. For a moment, I stand frozen in the doorway, tears streaming down my face, arms wrapped around myself like they can somehow hold all my broken pieces together. Then anger flares, hot and bright, burning through the pain. How dare he? How dare he make me feel like what we have is something dirty, something to be ashamed of? How dare he decide what's best for me without even asking what I want? I've spent my whole life being ignored by my father, being treated like my feelings didn't matter. I refuse to let Lucas do the same thing. When he comes back—and he will come back, even if I have to hunt him down myself—he's going to listen to me. Really listen. Because I'm done being treated like a child who doesn't know her own mind. I'm done letting him run from this. From us.

Hours pass. Night falls. I pace the house like a caged animal, alternating between fury and fear. What if he doesn't come back? What if he's convinced himself that leaving me is the noble thing to do? The thought makes me physically ill.

I try calling his cell. No answer. I send texts that grow increasingly desperate.

Please come home.

We need to talk.

Don't do this to us.

I love you, you stubborn idiot.

Daddy, please…

Nothing.

By midnight, I'm sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, staring at the door, willing it to open. I've changed into one of his t-shirts—the soft gray one that smells the most like him. It's pathetic, maybe, but I need the comfort of having something of his wrapped around me when he's taken himself away.

At 1:37 AM, headlights sweep across the windows. The familiar rumble of his SUV's engine cuts through the silence. My heart lurches into my throat. He's back. Now comes the hard part.

I don't move from my spot on the stairs. Let him come to me. Let him see what his absence has done to me.

The door opens slowly. Lucas steps inside, looking as wrecked as I feel. His hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. His eyes are bloodshot, his jaw dark with stubble. He freezes when he sees me, guilt and longing warring on his face.

"Kate," he says, my name a rough whisper. "You should be in bed."

"How could I sleep?" I ask, voice steady despite the storm inside me. "You left."

He sighs heavily, closing the door behind him. "I needed to clear my head."

"And did you? Clear your head?"

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he moves to the living room, sinking onto the couch with the weariness of a much older man. I follow, standing before him, refusing to let him avoid this conversation.

"Are you ashamed of me?" I ask directly, the question that's been burning inside me since he drove away. "Is that why you left? Because you're ashamed of what we did?” Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “Am I just your dirty little secret?"

His head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. "God, no. Never. Kate, no."

"Then why?" I press, taking a step closer. "Why run away like that? Why make me feel like what we have is something wrong?"