as I nervously twist my ponytail around my finger. “Is it that bad that I can’t talk about it? That the only time I’ve cried was because of Micah’s ambush at the funeral? What’s wrong with me?”
Warm hands wrap around mine and slowly pull my hands out of my hair to hold them between his as he drops to his knees in front of me. “There is nothing wrong with you, Stassi. I am sorry that I’ve been pushing you to see someone. Is that where this is coming from?”
“I don’t want to internalize my feelings but I don’t want to see a shrink…” I whisper, repeating his words back to him.
Shock crosses my face when he raises my hands to his lips and brushes them over both of my hands gently. “Look at me.”
I pull my gaze away from where our hands are joined and meet sad blue eyes that are highlighted by the water in them. “I don’t know what the right answer is here. I don’t know what you’re feeling in your heart, so I can’t tell you how to grieve. But I can assure you, that it happens differently for everyone and nothing is wrong with you.”
“A part of me is angry that she didn’t even give me the option to meet Micah. She didn’t tell me he wanted to meet me. I can understand if it wasn’t safe, if that story is even legitimate, but when I was fifteen and he reached out? Why not then?”
“I don’t know, Stass. I didn’t know anything about that, I swear to you. I’m sure she believed she was protecting you. You know she only did anything with your best interest in mind.”
“It feels wrong to be mad at her…I feel guilty. But I don’t know how else to process it.” How can I be mad at her? And what good is it to be mad at someone that can’t respond to my anger?
“Anger is easier than grief. A part of you may be angry at her for dying. That’s normal also. I feel that, often.”
“Really?”
He lets out a deep sigh and leans closer. I smell his rich oak and amber cologne that is inherently sexy. “When my first wife died, I spent so long being angry. At her. At myself. At the world. I hated her for leaving me and I hated myself for feeling that way. It was a vicious cycle, Stassi. With your mom, unfortunately, I’ve learned how to cope, having gone through this once before. I let the stages of grief hit me in their own time and move through them as best I can. I don’t try to change what my heart is saying. I don’t try to convince myself that I’m not hurting or angry or upset. I think you’re trying to deal with all of this in a way you think is right.”
I lower my head, shameful for feeling the way I do when soft fingers find my cheek. His knuckles trail down my face and the same hand moves my hair behind my ear. Tingles are left in its wake and instinctively I bite my bottom lip. When I look up his eyes are soft and I see the smile in them as they trace my features. “I’m here for you, however you need me, Stassi.” His voice is barely above a whisper and a part of me, a very depraved part wonders if he’s speaking quietly on purpose. As if he’s worried someone will hear him and take his words out of context. How else would I need him except for in a father figure type way? Is he offering something else?
Stop it, Stassi. We’ve talked about this.
I swallow hard, pushing the wicked thoughts back into that box labeled Daddy issues. It isn’t often that the carnal thoughts about my stepfather float through my mind, but every once in a while they spring up, setting my insides on fire and the space between my legs slick with desire. I’ve forced those thoughts out of my head and replaced them with what I believed to be hate. I told myself that I don’t like my stepfather. That he is overbearing and irritating, but really, he’s just overprotective and the only reason he irritates me is because I can’t have him.
“You swear you’ll be safe and call me if you need me to come earlier?” Dominic says as I go to open the car door after he pulls into Carter’s driveway. It’s