I laugh, but the sound dies in my throat when I realize Kyle is staring at me—no blinking, just those wet eyes fixed on my face. My smile fades.
"What happened?" I ask.
He doesn't answer. His gaze lingers, heavy, and then his hand slowly rises toward me. Instinct kicks in—I grab his wrist before it can touch me.
"Mr. Kyle, what are you doing?" My voice is flat, almost cold.
"Just…" he finally speaks, "…just wanted to brush your hair back. I want to see your face completely."
"No." I cut him off, firm, and step back. I turn to leave, but his hand clamps around my wrist again.
I whip around, anger rising. "What's wrong with you? You said you wanted to talk, and I gave you time. Now what do you want?"
"Can we be friends?" His words make my chest tighten.
Friends. My eyes widen, my thoughts spinning. No, Dane. Don't let this bastard in again. Don't let Damien crawl out of the grave you buried him in years ago.
