“Ryot,” I say while sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes laser in on Nichole and then back to me. He looks . . . angry.

“We just got back. Myla, can I talk . . .” He pauses and then leans in, taking a closer look at me. “Jesus, fuck, what happened to you?”

“What do you think happened to her?” Nichole asks. “You left her with her mom.”

Ryot’s body tenses as his eyes flit back to mine. “Your mom did this?”

“Of course she did,” Nichole says. “Myla was weak and vulnerable, and her mom took advantage. Several times. This is just a culmination of a week. Should have seen the slap mark from earlier on.”

“Nichole. Please don’t,” I say.

“Is that why you wouldn’t FaceTime me?” Ryot asks.

“That should have been clue number one,” Nichole says. “But you were too busy with baseball to figure that out.”

“Can I talk to my fucking girlfriend in private, please?” he asks, looking like he’s about to lose his cool.

Nichole glances at me for permission, and I nod. She scoots off the bed and then says, “Remember what we talked about, okay? You do what’s best for you.” And then she walks out of the bedroom, but not before bumping Ryot in the shoulder.

When the door is closed, Ryot rushes over to the bed and sits next to me. “Myla, why didn’t you fucking tell me?” He reaches out and gently caresses my cheek. “Have you pressed charges? Or are you going to press charges?”

I shake my head and try to find words to answer him. But I can’t say anything because the moment I try to open my mouth, a flood of tears hits me all at once.

* * *

RYOT

I should have stayed with her.

Not just because I had the worst series of my life, thanks to my inability to focus on anything but Myla, but because she clearly needed me so much more than I anticipated. If I had been with her, this would have never happened. Her mom would never have hit her . . . several times.

Fuck.

Bile rises to my throat from the thought of it. All I can picture is Myla, cowering as her mother lashed out. It’s absolutely sickening.

“Myla, please talk to me.”

She sucks in a deep breath, and when I think she’s going to lean into me, she pulls away and scoots to the other side of the bed. “I think . . . I think you should go,” she says, her voice wobbly.

“Go? Why?”

She doesn’t answer.

She brings her legs up to her chest, hugging them close as she stares in front of her.

“Myla, what’s going on?”

“I just think it’s best if you leave.”

“Are you mad at me?” I ask. “Baby, I told you, if I could have been here, I would have been.”

“But you weren’t,” she says, her eyes snapping up to mine. “You weren’t here, and no matter what happens, I know you won’t be able to be there for me the way I need.”