It took me a moment as I stared up at him to realize what he was getting at, and it was like the ground shifted under my feet. “No,” I whispered, stomach twisting into knots. “Please tell me that Charlie’s parents did not give him permission. Please.”
A muscle tightened along the strong curve of his jaw. “I wish I could tell you that, but I can’t. They did, just this morning. I heard about it through his probation officer.”
Raw emotion poured into my chest, and I turned to the side, not wanting him to see it. I couldn’t believe it. My brain refused to process that Charlie’s parents had given that . . . that bastard permission to visit him. How incredibly callous and crude and just so wrong. Charlie was the way he was now because of that homophobic asshole. Those knots spun tighter in my stomach, and there was a good chance I was going to puke.
Reece’s hand folded over my shoulder, causing me to jump, but he didn’t remove his hand and the weight of it . . . there was something grounding about it. A tiny part of me was grateful for the pressure and it reminded me of how it used to be between us. “I thought it would be better for you to hear it first and not be sidelined by it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and my words were hoarse. “Thank you.”
He kept his hand there as another moment stretched out between us. “That’s not all. He wants to talk to you.”
My body jerked out of his reach on its own accord. I faced him again. “No. I do not want to see him.” In a second, that night came roaring back, and I backpedaled, bouncing into the side of my car. Things had started out lightly. Joking. Teasing. Then everything escalated so quickly, so badly. “No way.”
“You don’t have to.” He moved toward me, but drew up short, lowering his hand to his side. “But you needed to know. I’ll tell his officer that he needs to steer clear of you. Or else.”
The “or else” barely registered, as was the low threat to his deep voice. My heart pounded in my chest, and I suddenly needed to be far away from where I was, alone, to process this. Edging along the passenger side of my car, I brought the tote bag up to my chest like some kind of shield. “I . . . I have to go.”
“Roxy,” he called out.
I made it around the front of my car, but somehow, like a ninja or something, Reece was in front of me. His sunglasses were still off and he was focused on me, his eyes the color of clear, precise blue.
Both of his hands landed on my shoulders, and it was like sticking my finger in an electrical socket. In spite of the news he’d just delivered, I felt the weight of his hands in every cell, and I don’t know if he felt it too, but his fingers curved, anchoring me in. “What happened to Charlie,” he said, voice low. “It wasn’t your fault, Roxy.”
My stomach flopped as I broke free, and he didn’t stop me this time as I darted around him and all but yanked open the car door and threw myself in behind the wheel. My chest rose and fell heavily as I stared at him through the windshield.
Reece stood in front of my car for a few seconds, and for a moment, I thought he was going to climb in the car with me, but then he shook his head as he slipped his sunglasses on. I watched him turn and stalk his way to his truck, and only then did I speak.
“Mother pucker,” I spat at the steering wheel as I gripped it with shaky hands. I didn’t know what the worst thing that had happened was. That Charlie hadn’t acknowledged me again. That Henry Williams had gotten permission to visit Charlie. Or the fact I was reminded that I wasn’t sure if Reece was right.
If what happened to Charlie really was my fault.