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When the door swings open, it reveals Izzy in a sports bra and baggy sweatpants, her hair pulled up on top of her head. But right now, she could be naked, and I wouldn’t be looking at anything other than her face, because the stunningly beautiful blonde has two black eyes, bruising all over her face, a cut along her swollen cheek, and a split lip.
“What the fuck?” I snarl, shoving my foot into the door just as she goes to slam it in my face.
23
IZABELLA
When there’s a knock at the door of my hotel room, I jump up to answer it, hoping it’s the room service I ordered. Throwing open the door, I’m beyond shocked to find Gulliver looming intimidatingly in the corridor, with Kip, Davis, and Hawthorn all lurking behind him.
“What the fuck?” Gulliver growls.
The sound of his voice sends tremors running through my body, and I move to shut the door, only to find his foot jammed in the way. Instead of leaving, he gently pushes me aside, and all four of the huge boys force their way into my room.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, remembering that I’m only in a sports bra and should really have put some clothes on before I answered the door.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” Gulliver demands, stalking toward me.
Flinching, I duck out of his way, crossing to the other side of the bed and putting the furniture between us as I grab a T-shirt and pull it on, covering up.
“Who did that to you?” Kip asks softly, not approaching me.
“I’m fine,” I say on autopilot, lifting my hands to pull down my hair and hide the worst of the bruising.
“No. Leave it,” Gulliver snaps, slowly approaching me like I’m a wild animal that’s going to bolt or attack him when he gets too close.
“Why are you here? I’d like you to leave, please,” I say, willing my voice to sound normal and calm.
“You didn’t come to school. You haven’t been answering my calls,” Gulliver says, his face a pained mask as he takes another step closer to me.
“I’m sick, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” I reply, quickly darting a glance at the other guys and noticing that they all have similar expressions.
“Penelope said you had an argument with your parents and left. She said she didn’t know where you were. Did she know about this…” Gulliver asks, but his voice cracks as he lifts his hand and gestures to my face, still edging closer to me.
“She knew,” I mutter, feeling the now familiar numbness settle over me again the way it has anytime I’ve thought about what happened on Saturday. “I moved out.” I’ve been at the hotel for two days now, but saying those words out loud to him is the first time it’s actually dawned on me that I left my parents’ home, and I don’t think I’ll ever go back.
I glance away, and when I look up, Gulliver is right in front of me, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together as he watches me with sad eyes.
“Was this your dad or your mom? Or Penelope?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Swallowing thickly, I consider just staying quiet. I know I shouldn’t tell him the truth. Mark, Mrs. Humphries, and the doctor who treated me already know, and that’s three people too many, but the words fall from my lips anyway. “Mom and Dad.”
“Baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” he gasps as he finally closes the distance between us and carefully pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me like I’m the most fragile thing in the world.
I let him hold me as numbness consumes me until I can’t even feel him touching me. It’s an odd sensation, but strangely comforting. He’s speaking to me, but I don’t hear what he’s saying through the haze of pressure that’s building inside my head and blocking out the sympathy I can see rolling off him in waves.
His actions were the catalyst for everything that’s happened. He didn’t make them act violently, but this fake engagement was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was a step too far that finally made my parents crack.
“Please stop touching me,” I say, pushing at his chest.
Immediately releasing me, he steps back, his eyes raking over me, presumably looking for more injuries.
“I’m fine. I just don’t want you to touch me,” I say, looking up into his tortured face.
“You’re not fine. Fucking look at you. This is…this is my fault, isn’t it?” he asks.
“You weren’t the one who backhanded me, but all your bullshit lies contributed to my parents losing their shit, yes,” I say frankly, not prepared to sugarcoat this to make him feel better. I may have to blend into the background of my own life, but that doesn’t mean I’m a doormat.
“Fuck,” he growls, lifting his hands to his head and gripping his hair so tightly his fingers go white.
