Page 60 of Game Misconduct

She shrugs. “I’m not saying it’s rational. I’m saying it’s what I thought.”

I swallow, my throat spasming as I try to keep my cool. “So all this time…”

“Yeah. Sorry.” She winces. “I was a bit of an asshole.”

Sorry? That’s all she has to say?

My laugh is hollow. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“That’s okay, I’m saying it for you. I was an asshole to you before you could do the same to me. It’s a defense mechanism. It’s not healthy. I hurt people before they can hurt me.”

She says this so woodenly, so matter-of-factly, I can’t help but wonder how many people have said this to her. How she’s accepted it as her truth.

I go back to my task, beheading the strawberries with more force than necessary. I’m not angry at her; just the situation. She’s hated me all these years, and for what? A misunderstanding? Because she wouldn’t fucking let me talk?

Fury rushes through me, a reaction so intense and unexpected I grit my teeth, grinding the molars into dust. When I finally allow myself to speak, my words are measured.

“You don’t have to hate me. You don’t have to take your anger out on me. I can be a lot of things, but I don’t want to be your punching bag.”

Her stare burns into me. “Why are you here?”

“I told you⁠—”

“No, you didn’t. Why did you stay? Why are you making breakfast?”

“Elsy—”

She rolls her eyes. “Elsy didn’t need to know.”

“She asked me to look out for you.”

“Oh. So you’re doing this for her?”

Is she going to make me come right out and say it?

She glares at me, challenging me.

“I wanted to.”

She may have a boyfriend, but he’s not here. She’s Elsy’s family, so by extension, she’s my family, too. That’s a disturbing thought. I can care about her and carefully lock away my attraction at the same time. Maybe.

A glimmer of vulnerability crosses her face. “But why?”

My protective instincts kick into overdrive. She’s a grown-ass woman, and I know she can take care of herself, but I still want to take care of her, too. I want to tackle any problem she can’t handle, and fight any battle before she has to. I want to be there for her—without the barbs and taunts.

Whatever she’ll allow, I’ll take it. Every little scrap of attention, every glance, every smile. I’ll take it all.

“Do you have to read into it? Can’t you just leave it be?”

She scoffs. “Have you met me? I overthink everything.”

Scooping the strawberries into a bowl, I mix them with the blueberries and raspberries already there, before setting it in front of her, along with a spoon.

“You don’t have to overthink this. Trust me on that.”

“I want to,” she whispers, the fight leaving her. “I just don’t know if I can.”

My heart freezes, and I try to keep the hurt off my face. “Did I do something?”

She shakes her head, her eyes downcast. “No. For once, this has nothing to do with you. This is me. This is all me.”