A vice squeezes around my heart as his words sink in. This entire time, I was so afraid that he hated me, that he blamed me for what happened, and really, he was blaming himself. Moving forward, I lean across the console and reach for him.
My dad wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “I love you so much, Kleo. You’ll always be my little girl.”
I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words from him, but as soon as he says them, it’s like a weight is removed from my shoulders. “I love you too, Dad.”
Dean
It’s dark before Kleo’s walking through the door, hand wrapped. I get up from the couch, trying not to look like I’ve been worrying about her even though that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. It’s ridiculous, I know. She cut her hand open; it’s not like she lost a limb or was shot.
“Hey,” I say, shoving both hands into my pockets.
“Hey.”
“How are you feeling?”
She holds up her hand and smiles softly. “All right. It’s still numb, so I imagine it’s going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”
“Your dad go home?”
She nods. “He and my mom have a date tonight.”
Feeling awkward as shit, I pull my hands out of my pockets and stroll into the kitchen. “I ordered pizza. Should be here in ten minutes or so.”
“Okay, great. I’m hungry.”
“Awesome,” I reply and immediately want to smack myself. Awesome? Who the hell says awesome like that? Based on her curious expression and the way her head is tilted to the side, she’s wondering the same damned thing. “Keith came out and helped me finish the shutters on the campers’ cabins. I’ll be doing ours tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.”
“Don’t be. You did help.”
She smiles softly, but it’s guarded—awkward—and I want nothing more than to go back to the moments of complete transparency. That unguarded version of Kleo—she’s getting to me.
“I’m going to go change.” She gestures to her bloody shirt. “I have your handkerchief,” she pulls it out of her back pocket, “but I’m going to wash it first.”
“Sounds good.”
She heads down the hall, and I open the fridge to pull out a cold beer. Cracking open the top, I down the cool liquid, hoping it will soothe some of my awkward stupidity. It’s ridiculous. Like I’ve returned to the teenage boy with a massive crush.
Which, of course, isn’t the case.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?” I head into the hallway opening to see her standing in the doorway of what used to be her room.
“You moved my stuff.”
“It’s in the main bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours. And it has a lock. I thought you might feel better if you could lock yourself inside.”
I hold my breath, unsure how she’s going to respond. Will she be pissed that I touched her stuff again? Grateful that I’m giving up the main bedroom for her? She going to laugh at me for being such a dumbass?
Heart in my throat, I stare at her as she walks toward me, stopping about a foot in front of me. “Thank you,” she says, looking up at me, her blue gaze piercing as she takes another step forward and wraps her arms around my waist.
What the hell am I supposed to do here? Awkwardly, I lift my arm and pat her gently on the back. The feel of her against me, it’s intoxicating, and it fucking scares me how easily I could get used to having her around. Hell, it hasn’t even been a full week, and already, I’ve gone from hating her to wanting—well—I’m not entirely sure what I want, but I definitely don’t hate her anymore.
“It’s just a room,” I tell her, and she giggles—actually fucking giggles—as she pulls away.
“It’s more than that. I’m going to go change.”
When she leaves this time, walking down the hall and shutting the door behind her, I find it nearly impossible to move. My entire fucking being wants to stay right here in hopes that she’ll come back and wrap her arms around me again.
There’s a knock on the door, and I force myself to leave the spot. I pull open the door and reach back for my wallet. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Not much,” the teenage boy says with a sigh. “Hoping this hurricane doesn’t hit us.”
“Same.” I hand him a few twenties and am taking the pizza when Kleo comes into view. The kid’s eyes actually bulge out of his head—I swear it—and when I turn, I can see why. She’s changed out of her shorts and bloodstained T-shirt and slipped into tight black leggings and a white tank top that can hardly be considered a fucking shirt.
When she turns to us and smiles…I’m pretty damned sure my heart actually skips a beat. Shit, I’m like a fucking Saturday morning cartoon. Complete with red hearts popping out of my eyes as I stare at her.
“Hi,” she says to the teenager, who, as I look back at him, looks like he’s going to melt into a puddle on the porch. “I’ll grab plates,” she says, and I shut the door without another word.
Pizza in hand, I turn to her, not moving from my spot in front of the door. She stretches up and reaches for the plates at the top of the cabinet, and I’m so fucking glad I stuck them up there as I get a peek at the tanned skin of her back where the shirt is sneaking up.
When she lowers back down and turns to me, I don’t tear my gaze away. I don’t fucking care if she knows how sexy I think she is. Because based on the way she’s looking at me, she’s feeling it too.
“Ready to eat?” I ask, clearing my throat.
Another knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” Kleo offers, and I shake my head.
If it’s that teenager, I don’t feel like giving him another opportunity to gawk at her. I cross the room to the door and pull it open to Laura Calvert. “Laura?”
She glares at me, all traces of friendliness from earlier gone. “I’m not here to see you,” she says and shoves past me. I turn to see Kleo completely pale in the kitchen. She’s stiff, eyes wide, and I can see that she’s terrified.
But why?
“Hey, Kleo, bet you never expected to see me again.”
“What are you doing here, Laura?” Kleo asks, hands tightening into fists at her sides.
“I think you need to go,” I tell Laura and step in front of her.
She pins me with a glare. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“This is my camp. So yeah, I’d say it fucking does.”
“That little bitch ripped my family apart with her lies, so get out of my way.” She starts to move past me, and I block her route to Kleo.
“Leave, Laura, or I’ll call the police,” Kleo says softly from behind me.
“That’s rich. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s what you do, isn’t it? You call the police on members of my family. Imagine my surprise when I heard that you were back here and running this fucking camp. But Kleo Turner always gets what she wants, doesn’t she? Do you know that my father didn’t get to see me get married? Didn’t get to walk me down the aisle? Hasn’t gotten to hold his grandchildren?”