SHE LOOKED LIKE SHE was going to cry.
I reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “You breathing okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was barely audible.
She wasn’t fucking fine. My hands tightened on the wheel. “I know you don’t want to be at my place.”
“I’ve never even been to your condo.”
Penthouse. I didn’t correct her. I’d bought it right before her mother passed. Before that, I’d lived in the same shithole studio I’d rented when I was eighteen. The only thing worse than the location was the actual building. But it’d been cheap as fuck, and it was the only thing I could afford working two part-time jobs when the band was starting out. Myles and Neil had helped me soundproof the place. Then I’d spent all my money on the drum set that now sat in Myles’s recording studio.
My new condo had a new drum kit. It had new everything. “You’ll be comfortable there.”
“Marcus said it’s… nice.”
I refrained from smirking. I’d bet my original drum kit that he hadn’t used the word nice once in describing my place. When he’d seen the penthouse, he’d said it was perfect for a pretentious rocker asshole. I didn’t tell him I’d bought the whole building, or that I’d also bought an oceanfront condo in a high-rise in Miami Beach that Neil had built. I didn’t have a fucking 401K or a military pension. I had real estate. Which was more security than I’d ever had, including the success of the band.
I changed the subject. “You still assisting in the karate classes with the younger kids?”
“You haven’t been gone that long. Nothing’s changed.”
Everything had changed. I’d just been too fucking stupid to make a move that night before I left on tour. Now she was beat to hell. “A lot’s changed.”
She leaded her head back. “How long are you home for?”
I glanced at the clock. Three more days. “Less than a week now.”
Her voice still quiet, there was more than tiredness and pain in her tone when she spoke. “Can you please stop by my house?”
Marcus knew I’d paid his mom’s mortgage off, but I didn’t know if she knew. I didn’t care. I was just glad she was referring to it as her house and not Marcus’s. “I’ll take you to my place and get you settled. I’ll grab whatever you need from your house later.” I knew she didn’t want a confrontation with her brother right now, and I didn’t fucking blame her. He was going to piss himself when he found out she was staying with me. I didn’t give a fucking shit, but she would, and I wanted to spare her that.
“I can get my own things.”
I gave in and changed the subject. “Is Marcus home?”
“He’s probably at the gym.”
I switched lanes and tried to get some information out of her. “Who does he work out with?”
She turned her head toward her window. “I know what you’re doing.”
My fingers drummed a rhythm on my leg. “I’m driving, Elyssia.”
“You’re prying.”
Goddamn it. “You’ve never kept secrets from me before.” She knew everything about me. She knew my carpenter father had worked himself to death. She knew he’d resented me, even before he’d died on a construction site. She knew he’d blamed me for my mother leaving. I’d told Elyssia things I’d never told another soul, and she’d told me everything she’d wanted out of life. She’d even told me once she wanted to live on the beach. I bought that fucking condo in Miami with her in mind.
Her chest rose and fell with her shallow breaths. “Ben….” She trailed off as she inhaled.
“Save your breath. We’ll talk later.”
Frustration bled into her tone. “It doesn’t matter if we talk now or later. We’re having two different conversations. You have your life, and I have mine.”
Everything I’d ever worked for was because of her. The second I’d first laid eyes on her I’d wanted more out of life than a hot meal. She’d made me want to be better. She’d made me want to become someone that she’d be proud of. One smile, and her sweet innocence was something I knew I’d want forever. No way in hell was my life separate from hers. “Stop—”
“No, you know it’s true. Your life is… it’s set. You made it. The band made it. You need to be around Myles and famous people and other musicians. That’s your life now. I appreciate what you’re doing, but you don’t need to spend your week off babysitting me.”
Every fucking muscle tensed. I pulled over and threw the Jeep in park. “Babysitting?” I practically growled.
She tried to hide her shock at my tone. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t.” Every word was a challenge I had no fucking right to throw at her. “You, injured or not, are my priority. Period.” I told her the fucking truth I should’ve said years ago. “I get that you’re confused. I know how we left things before I went on tour sucked. I know you’re hurting. But I’m going to take care of you, then we’ll talk when you’re feeling better.” Not touching her was killing me, but I didn’t have that right. Not yet.
Her body still, her expression guarded, she stared at me.
Then she fucking destroyed me.
“You don’t have to pretend we’re family anymore.”