Kaila and I flee from the game so fast I swear we leave burn marks in our wake.

"It's fine, don't worry," Kaila keeps repeating, her hand on my arm painfully tight.

"It's not, it's not." I answer, the two of us talking over each other.

She keeps checking her phone, searching Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—all the platforms I've blocked him on.

The feed is everywhere. People know my name, know where I am. He knows.

I'm still shaking by the time we get home. Kaila locks the door behind us.

"Reece," a figure steps out of the darkness just as Kaila flips on the light.

We both scream.

"It's okay!" Dad soothes, hands thrown out before him, alarm marring his features.

My heart stutters in my chest, I shrug out of my coat and expel a wet sob. "Daddy," I whisper, surging into his open arms.

He pulls me close, buries me into his chest, arms banding around my back, hand stroking my hair.

"What if he finds me?" I croak into his chest, he shushes me.

"He won't," his tone is harsh, threatening.

I remember the night I came home, knocked on his door in the pouring rain, shivering so hard my teeth clacked. My arm had been in a cast, half of my face bruised, hair dyed black and cut short. Dad had looked at me in horror, ushered me inside, and I'd broken down, told him the entire ugly truth of the last year and a half.

Kaila'd been home too, staying with Dad over Christmas break, like she did every time her college classes let out and the campus went dead. She'd cried, apologized for leaving me behind, sworn she hadn't if she'd known. I knew all that, of course, but I'd collapsed into her just as hard, cried until my tear ducts were all dried out.

"There's nothing online, he's quiet." Kaila offers, her eyes glued to her phone screen.

"Take the week off, both of you. Stay in." Dad tells us, Kaila's head jerks up, eyes wide.

"But the café—"

"Will be fine. You two aren't my only employees, just my best." Dad replies, he pats my back and pulls away, face drawn. "I'm serious, just take the week and let the story run its course."

Kaila nods, discards her phone on the kitchen counter, and comes to put her arm around my shoulders. I lean into her, welcome the comforting gesture. Dad watches us intently for a moment before pulling us both against him in a fierce hug.

"I have to go talk to my friend in the CPD." Dad says as he disengages, runs his hands down my arms, then Kaila's. "I'll stop by later in the week, bring you whatever you need." He promises.

"We'll be here, Netflix and chillin'." Kaila says, offers Dad a small smile. I nod along, try to mimic her expression, but tears slide down my cheeks, ruining the façade.

Dad pauses in the doorway, eyes worried as he takes me in. "Reecie, are you going to be okay?" He asks, zipping up his coat and throwing his scarf around his neck.

I nod, draw my fingers under my eyes, and take a steadying breath. "I'm fine."

**

The days pass in a blur of movies, comfort food, and tension. My nightmares get worse, leave me screaming bloody murder almost every night. Kaila decides it's easier to sleep next to me, so we huddle together in my full-sized bed, awake but pretending to sleep.

His face invades my waking hours just as fiercely, leave me shaking and cold all over. Every day Kaila checks social media for activity, Dad keeps an eye on the café traffic, and a police car has taken up permanent residence outside our apartment, a favor for Dad.

If he shows up, they'll take him away.

The thought does little to calm me.

Bas is blowing up my phone, frantic messages filled with 'where are you?', 'are you okay?', 'what happened after the game?', 'Reece, please.', 'answer me,' and memes of various fuzzy animals saying, 'I'm sorry,' and 'forgive me,'.

I don't reply. I don't know what to say. I can't figure out if I'm more upset with him or scared that he'll get hurt if he's too close to me when he shows. If he shows.

He will.

That voice in my head taunts.

"I just ordered DoorDash." Kaila announces, standing from the couch and abandoning her phone beside me. She pads into the kitchen, fills a glass of water, and turns to appraise me. "I'm going to go shower; will you get the food when it arrives?"

I glance away from The Addams Family to nod acknowledgement at her. "Yep."

Kaila nods, starts to walk away, then stops. She turns, plants her hip against the counter and watches me. I stare back, eyebrow raised, waiting. Then, she huffs, says, "Have you at least talked to him?"

I blink, "Who?"

"Bastien!" Kaila rolls her eyes.

I look away, refuse to entertain the guilt gnawing at me. "No, I haven't."

"Reecie—"

"No, he did this." I bark.

Kaila sucks her teeth, crosses the room to perch beside me. "He didn't know, you never told him." She reasons, tone soft and appealing.

I want to rage at her, say it's none of his fucking business, but there's a part of me that knows my anger isn't rational. Realizes she's right, doesn't want to care.

"It's not his problem, okay? I'm not his problem." I grit.

Kaila's eyebrows furrow sympathetically and she slides closer on the cushion, throws her arm around my neck. "Oh Reecie, you don't know how wrong you are." She says, adding, "I don't know if you've noticed, but Bas doesn't go out to the club with his boys anymore. He doesn't go home after his games either. He goes to the café that you just happen to work at, writes cute responses to the things you just so happen to write, and spends most of his time staring at you while you work. You're not a problem to him, you're the center of his attention." Kaila flails her hand about, glancing at empty air. "Everything else," she locks eyes with me, "revolves around you."

I stare at her, torn between laughing out loud and bursting into tears. It takes several long moments for my mind to process, catch up with the conversation, and direct my mouth to open. When it does, the words that leave my lips are cracked, uncertain.

"You're crazy, he's not—he doesn't—"

"He does," Kaila cuts me off, cups my cheeks in both hands. Her emerald gaze is bright and serious, streaks of gold dancing within their oceanic depths. "Tell him. He won't judge you or think you're broken. You think that." She sits before me, waiting for a response, searching my face.

I find that I don't have anything to say other than, "maybe." Kaila sighs, takes it as the best she's going to get and stands up.

"Twenty minutes 'til chow," she calls as she disappears into the bathroom.

I lean back into the couch cushions, burrow under the warmth of my blanket, and return to the world of severed hands, bizarre plots, and crazy characters. When the doorbell rings, I wait thirty seconds, enough time for the Dasher to set the food on the ground and retreat down the stairs.

I'm not expecting anyone to be standing there when I open the door, and the sight of a figure has me jumping a foot in the air.

"God!" I shriek, slapping a hand to my chest where my heart races one hundred beats per minute.

Bas stands opposite me, one hand is jammed in his pocket, the other gripping a bag. Damp hair falls into his hazel eyes.

"I still go by Bas. Or Bastien. Or Killfeather." He jabs the plastic bag into my hands. "Your food arrived."

I take it and step aside almost without realizing. Bas takes the invitation without a word and I close the door.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper, setting the food down on the kitchen counter.

Bas turns to face me, his gaze traveling over my white crop top and pink booty shorts. Heat flares in my chest, lodges in my throat. Only when I try and meet his gaze, he shifts away.

"I've never seen you without a hoodie on," he says, voice rough.

Panic grips my heart, freezing whatever weird warmth permeated me. I cross my arms over my chest, try to hide the fact that I'm not wearing a bra either.

"Well, that's on purpose!" I retort, thinking bitterly about the cuts on my wrists, shoulders, hips, and inner thighs. All fully visible without jeans or a hoodie. Scars peek out beneath the hem of my shorts and above my waistband. Even the scar slashed across my belly is visible, the crop top doing nothing to hide the ink coating my torso.

I flee his presence, past the point of caring when his gaze follows my movements. However, I hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees my back, cringe under the scrutiny. In the living room, I grab the throw blanket and wrap it hastily around my shoulders, clutch it to my chest. A flimsy coat of protection; but better than nothing.

"You're not supposed to be here!" I stomp toward him defiantly.

"I had no choice; you weren't answering me." He retorts.

Bas's gaze is heated where he regards me, arms folded over his chest, and leaning against the kitchen counter. I shrink back from the emotion brewing there, feel a slight stab of regret for icing him out.

"I didn't want to talk to you."

Bas snorts, shakes his head at me. "What the fuck did I do? You vanished after the game." He jabs his chin in my direction. "Kaila too. I'm not the only one wondering where the hell you two went."

"That doesn't mean you can show up here!" I bellow, cheeks flooding with anger.

Bas flings his arms wide, pushes off the counter toward me. "Why not? It's been a whole fucking week!"

I take a step back and Bas pauses. Some of his ire melts away.

"Don't." I hear myself whisper, mind flashing through all the times a different man came at me, angry and eager to throw me around.

Bas retreats a step, hands open in surrender. "I was just worried about you, Reecie."

I shift under my blanket, chew on my bottom lip.

"Talk to me." He pleads.

Somewhere deep within, something fizzles and snaps. Maybe it's all the fear I've kept bottled up for nearly a year, the suspense of waiting for him to return. Maybe I'm just itching to let my anger explode, seeing Bas as the perfect target. Or I could be losing my mind.

I stalk toward him, slam my fist into his chest. It's like punching a brick wall. Bas doesn't budge, takes the impact without comment. Worse, he almost seems glad for the blow.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm pissed at your for pretending you weren't the one messing with my sayings in the café? How shitty it was of you to force me to participate in that draw-off?" My voice escalates the more I talk, adrenaline pumps furiously through my veins.

I sling my fist into his chest again, harder this time. There's a slight puff of air that could be a groan or a laugh. Otherwise he doesn't react. It only pisses me off more.

"You asshole! Letting me ramble to you about you! And then you go and fucking drag me in front of a camera before an arena full of people, knowing full well how I feel about being the center of attention!"

I release the blanket, too hot under the intensity of my fury to keep it around my shoulders any longer. It falls to the floor, Bas's jaw ticks.

"Calm down—"

"Do not tell me what to do!"

This time, when I lash out, it's with both fists. Except Bas catches one hand in each of his, absolutely dwarfing me. I shriek in dismay, try to pull free but he holds tight, not enough to hurt, but enough that I can't break away.

"Let go of me!" I scream.

"Stop!" Bas's voice rises over mine, his demanding tone matching the fury in my own. But his eyes aren't cruel where they glow under damp brown hair.

I bare my teeth in an unnatural feral moment, twist in his hold. My arms cross over my chest and my back presses against the hard planes of his front. I let out an exasperated huff-shriek. He shifts slightly, hold loosening just a bit.

"Do you see those scars?" I seethe, leering at him over my shoulder. "Do you see the burns?"

Bas swallows, face torn between discomfort and the need to stand his ground.

I push harder. "One year ago, I ran from a man named Asher Bryce. He abused me for a year and a half. Cut me, burned me, broke my bones, left me covered in bruises. Raped me."

I watch him closely, see his jaw tick, eyes darken dangerously.

"I ran, do you understand that? I ran away from him in the middle of the night and disappeared without a trace. For months afterward, he sent me threatening messages, said he'd find me, and when he did, he'd kill me."

I breathe in shakily, images flashing past my vision. The anger that drove me minutes earlier slips away like sand through my fingers. Fear replaces it, a living, breathing monster under my skin.

"You put me on live TV Bastien!" My voice breaks, tears rushing down my cheeks in rivulets, body shaking, heart pounding. "You told him exactly where to find me!"

Bas releases me, spins me around, and crushes my body to his.

I melt in his embrace, breathe in the comforting scent of alpine, press my face into his muscled chest. Steel strength bands around me, holds me close, refuses to let go. A palm cradles the nape of my neck while his chin rests on my head.

"You idiot! I told you no!" I continue to hurl insults at him.

Bas stands incredibly still, remains perfectly silent. The shaking ebbs, stops. Eventually a bizarre calm settles over me, warm and wonderful. We stay that way for several moments, possibly longer. I have no way to tell the time.

"Why didn't you press charges?" Bas breaks the silence on a growl, almost wild.

I sigh heavily, thump my forehead against his chest. "It happened in Europe. Kaila and I went there the summer after I graduated high school. When we were scheduled to return, he convinced me to stay. He was nice at first, so Kaila didn't see a reason to stop me."

Bas doesn't say anything, and I get the feeling that he's trying to figure out which question to ask first. "When did it start?"

"A few weeks after Kaila returned home."

"Why didn't you leave?"

I scoff, crane my neck back to glare up at him. Bas tilts his head, meets my eyes. My knees almost buckle under their intensity. Good thing he's holding me so tightly.

"You don't think I tried? There weren't a whole lot of places for me to go. I didn't know anyone but him, and he kept me inside most of the time, isolated from society. And when I did go outside, I was too afraid of getting caught to run."

"What about the day you did?" The question is forlorn.

"I had no choice; he nearly killed me a few days before. It was only a matter of time."

Bas's jaw works, his eyes a constellation of emotion; sorrow, anger, shock, regret, and longing. Others I can't put a name to.

"Why didn't you call Kaila or your dad?"

"He didn't let me have a phone, and when he did, he was in the room. I knew if I let anything slip, I'd pay later." I almost roll my eyes, feel the need to add, "I was trying to survive Bastien. My life wasn't exactly easy then."

He glowers. Like he can see Asher, wound him with the daggers in his gaze.

I meet the stare with my own, wriggle against his hold. Finally, Bas releases me, and I stumble away, hands over my chest, suddenly cold.

"Why didn't he follow you here earlier? Didn't he know where you lived?"

I tip my head back, focus my gaze on the ceiling instead of his face. "I graduated high school in Nevada. That's where my mom grew up. Dad moved right before we left for Europe. I never told Asher about it, especially once I knew I was stuck."

"How did you find your dad then?"

I rub my hands over my face, feeling antsy with all the questions. "When I got state-side, I went to the Cincinnati police station. My dad has a friend who works there, I knew his name. He took me to my dad's place."

"He didn't ask you what happened?" Bas asks, outraged.

"Of course he did." I snap. "What was I supposed to say? Asher never hurt me in the states, and he wasn't an immediate threat. There was nothing the law could do." I glower, dare him to ask another question.

Bas rakes a hand through his hair, seems to be playing with his tongue piercing as he watches me. Then, "why are you hiding in here? Why didn't you text me back?"

"I was mad at you—no, I was livid—with you."

Bas opens his mouth to respond, but in that moment, Kaila emerges from the bathroom. She's clutching a towel to her chest, glances between us sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I've been trying to stay in the bathroom while you two work this out. But," she glances at the food on the counter. "I'm fucking hungry, so," she scuttles forward, snatches up the bag, and turns toward the hall. "I'll be in my room, try not to need me."