Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,21

love the sound. Angelo never laughed at my jokes. He mostly made me feel stupid. I follow my grandmother to the kitchen, feeling Kit’s eyes on my back as I walk away.

It’s just an urge, remember? It’s my lizard brain.

Nothing more.

It’ll pass.

It has to.

But every time I head to the living room or hear Kit’s voice or his laugh through the kitchen doorway, my stomach flips and squeezes and sends fire pulsing between my thighs.

I drop potato peels and vegetable scraps in the compost, and my mother points to the overflowing garbage. “Take that out, hon.”

I learned long ago that whatever affectionate pet names my mother tacks onto the end of a sentence, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s given me a command, not a request. I nod, tying up the bag and hauling it up.

Maybe on my way back inside, I can steal a few minutes in the living room.

But as soon as I step outside, my stomach drops. A black Camaro pulls up at the end of the driveway as fear starts to grip my chest. It squeezes painfully, making me feel every thump of my heart. Icy tendrils start to wrap around my legs, and everything feels heavy.

Setting my shoulders, I walk to the end of the driveway where the garbage cans are. Angelo gets out of his silly, souped-up muscle car and leans against the roof, staring at me.

I arch an eyebrow as I toss the bag of garbage in the can. “What are you doing here, Angelo? Did your family finally realize what a piece of shit you are and bar you from Thanksgiving?”

Shut up! That’s the kind of sass that makes Angelo blow up. A month ago, I wouldn’t have dared say that. Hell, yesterday I wouldn’t have dared. Now, though? It chases some of the coldness away.

Angelo’s eyes narrow to slits. “I wanted to wish your family a happy Thanksgiving. We grew up together, Serena. I didn’t just lose you. I lost your whole family, too.”

Cry me a fucking river, bro.

I clench my jaw. “I thought Robbie made it very clear last night about what we think of you hanging around.” My voice is hard, but a tiny wobble on the final word betrays my true feelings.

I’m afraid.

I can’t help it.

Angelo makes me feel small. I wait for him to sneer at me and throw ugly, lashing words my way. They’ll sting as they whip across my face. They’ll flay my skin and leave me broken and bleeding. They always do. His words carve deep, red lines across my flesh. Ones that don’t scar or scab or heal—they fester.

I wait for his eyes to turn black as anger takes hold of his mind.

But something worse happens. His face softens, and he puts on the smooth, honeyed voice that used to work so well on me.

“What happened, baby?”

“I’m not your baby.”

He starts walking around his car, and I move backward. “Go away, Angelo. We broke up six months ago. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

“I’ve known your family since I was a kid, Serena. I’m not going to stay away.” The honey in his voice turns sour, and I know the breaking point is close. I get ready for the switch. The black eyes. The anger.

“I’m asking you to stay away,” I say, gathering all my courage. I’m still walking backward, though, and he knows he has the upper hand.

How could he not? His biceps are as big as my head. He towers over me by more than a foot. He could fling me across the yard if he wanted to. Even though he’s never done anything like that to me, I know he’s wanted to. I’ve seen the way he holds himself back. How he punches walls and destroys boxes of cannolis instead of hitting me. I know it’s only a matter of time.

I bite the inside of my lip until I taste blood.

“Come on, baby.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Babe,” he says, opening his palms toward me.

Then, like the sun’s rays warming my icy skin, a voice comes from behind me. “Is everything okay, Serena?”

I turn to see Kit in the doorway, carrying a bag of empty bottles for the recycling, and I silently thank my mother for putting him to work.

“Who the fuck are you?” Angelo’s eyes are hard, and my blood turns to ice. The sweetness in his features is gone. The honey in his voice has melted away.

This is the real Angelo. The hard Angelo. The guy I’ve