Page 82 of Face Off With Fate

“He doesn’t deserve to hear from you.” Monroe’s voice was fierce, piercing through my worried thoughts. “How’d you end up in Dallas?”

I sighed. I’d already shared way more than I’d planned. Why not finish the sad story that was my introduction to adulthood?

“Well, when it was clear my dad wasn’t changing his mind, and I’d been banned from the house, I decided to go anyway.” More tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. “He’d made me feel so worthless. Like nothing about me was worth loving. I decided to do it myself. I was going to go to school, move out, and do it all on my own. Without him. Without anyone.”

Because no one was coming, anyway.

“Unfortunately, when I went to take my money out of the separate account I’d put my college savings into, it was gone.”

My heart stalled in the same way it had when I looked at the balance on the ATM all those years ago.

The bed dipped, and Monroe hovered over me, propped up on one elbow. His face twisted in anger. “He took your fucking money? Your college fund?”

My emotion clogged my throat. Not at the memory, but at how fierce his response was.

“Yeah. I had just enough to get me to Texas and find a new job. My resumé is pretty diverse, let me tell you.” I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but his scowl only grew deeper. “I’m drowning in student loan debt,” I said, answering the question written on his face.

Another nervous laugh hung between us. Because how the fuck else was I supposed to cope with the shit show that was my life?

Monroe studied my face, lips pursed like he was holding back a stream of thoughts, but all he managed to get out was, “Do you wish you two still spoke?”

“I used to. Right after the whole blow-up. But I’ve spent years deconstructing those emotions,” I answered truthfully.

“Good, then I can say this without feeling bad. Fuck your dad. You’re better off without him.” His eyes slid closed, and he pulled in a few breaths before asking, “What about your mom?”

A sigh slipped out. “That one’s been more complicated to mend. At eighteen, I didn’t consider that she was just as trapped as I was. I’d wanted so badly for her to say something to him. To tell him to let me go to school…but she just stood there with her head bowed. I hated her, too, for a while.” I choked the words out. The pad of his thumb caught another rogue tear, and my heart skipped. “About a year later, she called. I only answered because I didn’t know the number. She’d left him.”

I paused, the truth lodged in my throat, uncomfortable and harsh. “I still wish she had fought for me. Put me first, but she didn’t. Neither of them did.”

The last part was barely above a whisper. Awareness zapped along my skin. I was afraid to move. Afraid I’d break this safe bubble we were in.

Monroe flopped back down on the bed. His massive shoulder pressed firmly against mine. “Found out I had a daughter about three days after my injury.”

The night nearly swallowed his words.

My eyes slid to the side of his face, needing to watch his reaction. The lines between his brows creased, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Did the League know about the accident and that you found out about being a father when they hung you out to dry like that?”

He gave a short nod, threading his fingers through mine.

A sob hitched in my throat.

I threw my arm around his shoulder, burying my head against his chest. The scent of fresh laundry and something earthy enveloped me. Monroe stiffened beneath me, the steady thump of his heart picking up a pace or two.

“I’m not letting go until you hug me back,” I muttered into the dampened fabric. On the second sniffle, the weight of his arm settled over my side, trapping me to his front.

“Please don’t cry, Trouble,” he pleaded, words soft and muffled by my hair. “I don’t handle crying women well. I’m not good with people, remember?”

“Yes you are,” I said into his chest, meaning it.

Monroe was great with people. He’d just closed himself off, and now it all made sense. The barbed exterior that he brandished was a coping mechanism for the hurt and the heartache others caused him. Our armor was different, but served the same purpose.

Protection from letting others in.

“I’m sorry, Josh.” The words came out between hiccupped sobs.

“Shh.” His warm breath skated across my crown. Long fingers rubbed small circles on my back. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything. Well, you’ve been a pain in my ass since we met, but…”