Page 165 of Nyx

No one stops her on her journey to me, and my heart rate begins to match the cadence of her steps, only tripled with each one.

Her smile covers her face, nearly from ear to ear, by the time she's standing in front of me.

"There are a lot of people here," she says, shifting her position to stand beside me so she can see everyone in the room.

She's not one to keep her back to others for very long, and I know it's just muscle memory to her at this point in her life, and not because she feels like she's unsafe around any of the people here.

"There are always a ton of people around," I tell her.

"It's good to see the other women mingling."

"It is," I agree.

"And Amelia and Dean seem to have made quick friends."

I look in the direction of the kids playing and spot Daisy sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed over her chest as if the world is against her in every aspect, before glancing toward Amelia and Dean.

Those two are sitting at a table playing some kind of card game. Dean looks so happy, and the dark circles that have been around his eyes every time I've caught a glimpse of him seem to be fading.

"Daisy, on the other hand," she continues with a light chuckle.

"She doesn't seem very happy," I say without judgment.

"Dana told them they had to wait to get in the pool," Juliet whispers, leaning a little closer as if telling me a secret. "She wasn't impressed."

"Being a kid is hard," I tell her with a grin, pulling my eyes from the little girl when she begins to shift her attention in our direction.

I don't want her to think we're saying bad things about her. I remember what it was like as a child when the adults would whisper. I imagined them discussing the bruises on my skin and the abuse that went on at my home, deciding I wasn't worth the trouble of getting involved.

"Things will look up for her," Juliet says, a softness in her tone as if she would fix all the little girl's problems if she could. "It's just going to take time."

I nod because telling her that sometimes the trauma never goes away, or that the things she suffered when still living at home with her abusive father have the potential to morph into behaviors that would still have a negative outcome on her life, doesn't seem like the eye-opening conversation she may want to have right now.

I'm not saying the girl is destined to live a life of trouble, but there's always a chance.

I know she has more resources and support to work through all that stuff than most kids do, but sometimes the damage is too deep to be completely cured.

"Speaking of the pool," she says, taking a half step forward and positioning her body so she can see me better. "You aren't exactly dressed for swimming."

I look down at my clothes, my jeans and t-shirt just part of my everyday attire, before looking up at her. I use the opportunity to scan her body and feel yet another smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

That is, until I see the scar on her shoulder, revealed by the tank top she's wearing.

The sight of the thin line, still white and visible even after all these years, makes me raving mad, increasing my need to put a bullet between Whitmore's eyes.

She notices where my attention is focused, and it causes her to take another step back, so her shoulder is no longer in my line of sight.

She doesn't mention it or make excuses, and I hate that I might've made her uncomfortable.

"You aren't dressed for the pool either," I say, lifting my soda and taking a sip.

It tastes like acid on my tongue, my hatred for her ex mixing with disgust at being so obvious about noticing her scar.

"I don't plan on swimming," she says. "But I was considering dipping my toes in the water."

I glance down at her sandaled feet, seeing the flash of a bluish sort of green painted on her toenails.

"That's my favorite color," I tell her before lifting my eyes to her.