Page 113 of Run to Me

Sighing, he rubs his forehead like Maisy does when she’s overwhelmed. Then he meets my stare and says, “You look at her the same now as you did when you were a kid.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure where he’s going with this. “How’s that?”

“Like you’re her shield at the ready.”

My relief makes way for brutal honesty. “I wish I had done more to protect her from all of you.”

Richard nods with acceptance clear in his sad eyes. He knows Maisy’s lost to him, possibly forever. Regardless, he makes a plea any father would, though he hasn’t earned the privilege. “I’m proud she chose you. You’re a good man, Jensen. Treat her right. Love her fiercely.”

“I always have.”

We don’t get to choose our parents. Family members are luck of the draw, and Maisy wasn’t so lucky. The saddest part in all this is Richard and Vera doted on both of their children before they got swept away by Logan’s talent and gave all their attention to his sport. It’s a damn shame.

“Pull over,” she orders. Her voice strains, as if she’s holding her breath.

Knowing we wouldn’t make it to Walford before she bursts, I drive down a back road toward a spot on the river where our families spent summer days together. She may have been too young to remember, but I do. I remember every moment with her.

When I round a bend, and the riverbank comes into sight, she yanks at the door handle and shouts, “Stop the car!”

She’s out of the Jeep before the tires stop rolling. I throw the gear into Park and follow her to the water’s edge where she paces, the hem of her shirt twisted in her fingers.

“Birdie,” I say when I catch up with her in the shade of an oak tree.

“Why?” The question comes out on a choked sob. Anger, heartache, rejection, loss…all of it wants to break free from her tightly coiled body.

I encourage her not to hold back any longer. “Do it, birdie.”

“Why?” she yells, louder.

“Do it,” I say, fueling her fire.

“Why?” she screams at the top of her lungs. The force of the scream causes her to crumple to the ground, like a marionette with its strings swiftly clipped. “Why? Why?” she wails. Her body racks with heavy sobs as she rocks back and forth, hugging herself.

I kneel beside her, not touching, but close enough in case she reaches for me. She’s breaking, and I’ll collect every piece that falls to the dirt so she doesn’t lose a single part of herself.

“No one,” she cries. “No one saw me. They still don’t. Why, J? Why can’t anyone see me? Why don’t they love me?”

Inching closer, I fist my hands on my thighs to keep from grabbing her. “Let go. Say what you feel.”

Shaking her head, she angrily swipes the tears from her cheeks. She knows what I’m demanding. In all her years of being neglected and left alone, she hasn’t admitted how she feels about her family. She complained a little about their disregard for her, but aside from the day I showed up when she was yelling at Vera, she’s never expressed how being ignored affects her deep inside.

Perhaps she hasn’t spoken her feelings aloud because doing so means accepting reality. It’s an admission to herself that the family she was born to failed her in every way possible. They did fail her, epically.

After Richard’s initial reaction to seeing us on his porch, my girl has every right to be furious. He glossed over her presence like he sees her every day, aiming his joy and attention at me. I don’t blame her for wanting to rain hellfire on those familial ties and burn them to ash.

“Let it all go, Maisy. It’s just us. Tell me what you feel.”

“They make me so angry,” she whispers harshly, her hardened gaze locked on the ground and hands clenched in tight fists. “I hate that I felt sorry for them. And I feel stupid for trying to get them to notice me for so long. It was pointless. They didn’t want to see me. They didn’t want to see the lonely girl who needed a little attention and a fucking hug now and then. I hate that I’m still that girl. I’m so pissed off that I know nothing about love because they didn’t teach me. I hate that I feel inadequate because of them. And I fucking hate football.”

When her eyes clash with mine, my chest tightens. Despite the fire raging inside her, she’s losing hope.

“How could anyone want me when my own family didn’t? I’m an outlier, an error.” The tears dripping from her chin ring out like silent, little warning bells as she narrows her hazel gaze on me. “You shouldn’t want me, Jensen. Not when you can find someone better who knows how to love. Someone who can give you what you need. I’ll never make you happy.”

“Maisy—”

When she springs to her feet, her tone becomes level, resolute. “I need to get out of here. I have to go.”

“Go where?” I ask, rushing after her toward the Jeep.