Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(72)

“Because you don’t tell us shit anymore!”

Dad’s breath was heavy, it matched mine but neither of us spoke for a few seconds. Instead, I looked through the glass doors, scuffing my shoes against the molding. My father wasn’t wrong. I kept myself to myself because I didn’t want to add to the worry my parents already had, all because their son had screwed up again. My silence had hurt them, I’d known that but I’d never understood how deeply that hurt ran or how frustrating I’d become.

“Dad…”

“Look, keki kane, I’m sorry.” I believed he meant that apology. “I shouldn’t scream at you, but you’ve got to understand, we can’t get through to her. None of us. Leann is trying but Aly’s still wary. Please, for the sake of my sanity, go see her. Work this shit out.”

Kona Hale had tackled the best quarterbacks in the league. He was a massive mound of muscle and intimidation. But put a weepy Keira in front of him and throw in his anxious toddler and you’ve got the makings of the one thing that could topple him: an unhappy family.

I was my father’s son and though it took me stuffing down my pride and that promise I’d made to myself to forget about Aly as though she didn’t matter at all to me, an hour later, I found myself standing outside of Leann’s studio, trying to ignore the voice screaming in my head.

She doesn’t matter. Don’t you dare apologize. Don’t be weak.

That voice was full of disgust because I could not hate myself for wanting Aly, for wanting to feel anything other than guilt. That voice was loud, so livid that I didn’t bother trying to block it out. I knew that every insult, every complaint she leveled, I deserved. I was everything she’d accused me of being. Emily’s father had reminded me with those roses, as though I could ever forget what I had done. And walking away from Aly, disregarding the attempt she made at healing me only proved that I was what Emily’s father thought I was. If I was that low, disgusting cretin, then I may as well live the part.

But for my family, I’d do anything. Even try to smooth over the shit I hadn’t created. Not directly. The voice continued, niggling hard, like some sort of wicked conscience that I’d grown used to hearing. There was so much doubt, so much hatred in that tone that I knew I’d created it myself. Emily would have never spoken that way to me. She’d have never fed my doubt.

The open door beyond the lobby flooded the entire building with music. Leann wasn’t here, I’d made sure of that and had caught the sing-song tease in her voice when I asked where I could find Aly on her own.

“Studio. She’s working on her routine.” I hadn’t trusted that tone or the way my cousin laughed, but as I approached the opened door, I understood what had her so amused.

Motherf*cker.

Aly was dressed—if that’s what you want to call it—in a crop-top shirt pulled in a knot at her back and a pair of tight dance shorts that barely curved around her round ass. This wasn’t surprising or anything I hadn’t seen before. Most of the instructors wore very little when they rehearsed, keeping their limbs free from anything that would distracted the hard work of their routines. But the muscle in Aly’s legs flexed and her calves were rounded tight as she moved around the room in high heels, as though she’d been at it for a long while.

This would be easier if I wasn’t so attracted to her. Or if, you know, whoever that f*cker was dancing with her didn’t have his hands all over her ass.

“Saida!” he said, laughing as they moved, working Aly across the floor with barely a breath’s space between them. “Good, beautiful.”

He was way better at the Kizomba than I was, moved with a swagger I’d never have. I’d give him props for that. Then he lifted her up, ignored Aly when she gasped. “Damn, I don’t remember your ass being this round.”

Right. Fuck that guy. He doesn’t deserve my props.

“Tommy, grow up,” she said, pulling his hand off her ass. “Keep to the rhythm.”

“You are no fun.”

Tommy. That * I’d heard her Skyping with. I still didn’t know who he was to her and right then, didn’t much care.

Aly stopped dancing and I counted it as some small victory that she wasn’t laughing with him, that she hadn’t cracked a smile once since I’d been watching them dance. “We have less than a month. We have to get this right and you are still not close enough.”

My fists ached from how tightly I curled them when this Tommy prick grabbed Aly’s waist and pushed himself flush against her. “Well, let’s go up to your apartment, see how close we can get.”

“Would you stop…” whatever Aly was going to say died on her tongue when she looked around Tommy’s shoulder and right at me. There was surprise on her features, her eyebrows arched, her lids wide, and sweat dotted over her top lip and on her forehead.

Tommy followed her gaze, looked over his shoulder at me and that jackass’s smile only got wider. “For f*ck’s sake,” he said, stepping back from Aly.

“Ransom.” She nodded once, a small grin moving her lips, then, as though she remembered how I’d treated her, what an * I’d been to her that night at Summerland’s, that grin vanished quick. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question,” Tommy said, resting a hand on Aly’s hip. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”