Clarity - Nicole Dykes Page 0,63

adult.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “That’s debatable.”

Fuck, I love this kid. “Funny.”

She smiles brightly up at me, her curls everywhere. I think she wears it down like this, slightly messy, just to drive Blair crazy. I like it. Blair has tried to take her to a fancy salon to get it cut, but Bree refuses. “I am pretty funny.”

“Why are you asking me if I'm okay?”

She puts her arms through the straps of her backpack and looks away. “You seemed . . . kind of upset last night.”

Way to go, Rhys.

“I wasn’t upset. I’m so fucking glad we won, Bree.”

She looks at me cautiously. “You sure? I’m a handful. I know that.”

I shake my head and put my hand on her shoulder. “No. You aren’t, not even a little bit. But if you want to give this world hell, go for it. I encourage it.” She smiles at that.

“So, what was wrong?”

I look at the clock on my phone and see we’re about five minutes ahead of time. “Let’s go out on the porch.”

She nods and follows me to the porch swing Blair had me put up a couple of weeks ago. We sit down, and I let my feet drag along the concrete. “I’m really glad you’re living here with us. And that it all worked out, but I wasn’t sure it was going to. I was scared.”

She nods, letting out a puff of breath, not looking at me. She stares at her feet. “I was too.”

“Bree . . .” Her eyes meet mine, and I try to pull up all the courage I have. “Did he hurt you?” I swallow . . . and fight the revulsion. “I mean . . .”

“No.” She doesn’t make me say it. “I thought he was going to.” I see tears pool in her eyes that kill me, but I let her speak. “He would get really mad at me sometimes and jerk me around. I had some bruises on my arms and stuff. But . . .”

I see the fear and disgust in her eyes. Emotions I recognize all too well. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

She looks back at her feet. “He would whisper in my ear. Things like how pretty I was. Or how I was dressed like a slut.” My fingers dig into my jean-clad thighs. “And he would brush his hand over my back and my arms.” Her eyes lift, desperation in them. “I swear I never dressed slutty.”

“It wouldn’t fucking matter if you did.” My voice is firm, too firm, and she flinches. I try to soften my tone. “It doesn’t give him permission to make you feel uncomfortable. Nothing gives anyone that right.”

She nods her head. “I could tell it was coming. I just felt it, and that day . . .” A tear slides down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. “That day I ran into your shop, he told me he was going to make me his. Legally. And I just knew . . .” She sobs, and I wrap an arm around her, letting her head rest against my shoulder.

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and I swear I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

I can feel her smiling. “I was running to Rhett that day. His real father works at the mechanic shop on your street, but I saw your shop, and I darted in.” She looks up at me. “I don’t know why.”

I smile down at her. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Her honesty makes my heart clench with pride.

“Do you need to talk to anyone? Like a counselor?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m okay.”

“I get not wanting to talk, but surprisingly, it really helps.”

She studies me carefully. “You were hurt.”

It’s not really a question, but I answer it like one anyway. “A lot.” My voice falters, but I keep pushing through it. “My foster father beat the hell out of me. And then . . .” I’m tense. I’m sure she’s afraid, but she rests her head on my shoulder.

“He really hurt you.”

I nod. “Yes. He and his wife. They used me in every way. And they neglected me because they could. And they thought they could keep me weak.” A small smile comes over my mouth. “But they couldn’t. I got free.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m still a little messed-up over it, but I'm healing.” I shrug my shoulders. “You and Blair have helped.”

“You guys have helped me.”

“You want to leave that fancy school?”

She sits up straight and wipes her