Her fists were little, but they were clenched tight, and her face was flushed with anger. “Why?” she repeated.

“Leave it—”

“Answer a fucking question for once!”

“Because I was worried about you!” I shouted, vaulting the water bottle down the hallway.

I stood there, watching her pull back and stand up straight, shock written all over her face.

Running a rough hand through my hair, I fisted the short locks, all of a sudden missing the long ones I’d had just this morning.

The sweat on my scalp had cooled, and I reached back and pulled my shirt over my head. Tossing it on a chair, I stood with my hands at my hips, trying to calm down.

I walked toward her, seeing her inch back to the wall.

“About a month after you left for college,” I started, “we were getting things going at the Loop. Renovations, construction … ” I trailed off, licking my dry lips. “Your mother filed a petition with the city trying to stop us. She hated the Loop, thought it attracted trouble, so she got some support behind her and ran with it.”

Juliet looked up me, seeming so small. I’d wanted to protect her. I’d wanted to make sure she was happy.

I continued. “She wouldn’t have won. Most of the town looks at the Loop as a commodity,” I assured her. “But she could have stalled things, so I investigated her.”

“For skeletons in the closet,” Juliet inferred. “To blackmail her.”

“For leverage,” I corrected. “To persuade her.”

Juliet crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for me to continue.

I took a deep breath. “She had a daughter listed in her personal information. No surprise, except the daughter was named Juliet Adrian Carter. This confused me, because K. C. Carter or any name starting with a K didn’t show up.” I eyed her. “So I started digging. And when you told me your story, I—”

“You already knew.” She cut me off, her eyes pooling with tears. “You just let me confide in you like an idiot while you sat there listening to the same sordid shit you already knew.”

“No.” I tipped her chin back to look at me, but she jerked away. “I didn’t listen to the story. I listened to you, okay? You were talking to me. You were trusting me. I didn’t know shit about you—not really—until I heard it from your lips. I read about you, but I didn’t know you.”

She looked away, shaking her head. She didn’t believe me.

“The more I found out about you,” I continued, trying to make her understand, “the more I couldn’t let you go. One thing led to another, and I …” I hesitated and swallowed. “I wanted to be there for you. I accessed your class schedule to see how you were doing.”

She ran her hands over her face, turning away, but I grabbed her shoulders and turned her back to me.

“I found out you were struggling in a math class, so I set off the sprinklers the morning of the midterm. Shitty thing to do, I know. But I figured extra time to study was welcome. After that, I … I just kept an eye on you, okay?”

I’d never intended to invade her privacy, and as easy as it would’ve been or as much as I wanted to, I never went into her e-mail, social networks, or medical records. I actually tried to talk myself into it. Lots of times. Sure, I’d just be making sure she was healthy. I’d just be making sure no one was harassing her. I’d just be making sure her asshole boyfriend wasn’t screwing around. But I never did any of that. I wasn’t trying to control her. I just wanted to take care of her.

At least, that was all I hoped it was.

“I didn’t feel like you had anyone,” I admitted. “It wasn’t pity. It was actually kind of a relief to know your life wasn’t perfect. I felt like we had one thing that connected us, that made us different from our friends, and I didn’t want you to be alone.” And I rushed to add, “I knew that being away at school was probably more freedom than you’d ever had. I wanted you to love it. I wanted to make things easier for you. That’s all.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her cheeks as she bowed her head into her hand.

“So you know everything,” she cried. “You knew about my father. That the day after he cut me, he slashed his wrists. Because he could never forgive himself for my sister.”

Yeah, I knew that, too. How could a father forgive himself for causing the death of his own child?

I nodded. “It was the middle of the night,” I almost whispered. “Your sister had gotten out of bed. He thought she was an intruder. It was a terrible accident.”

Her head hung low, and she wiped her tears.

“He killed himself to protect you,” I said. “He thought he was going to hurt another daughter.”

She looked up. “He did anyway, didn’t he?” Her voice grew strong again. “He left me with her. Wouldn’t you resent him for that? I mean, what about your mother, huh?” she asked. “She left you with your father.”

I slid my hand into my pocket, instantly feeling the comfort of the knife. “Yeah. So?”

“Well, don’t you hate her?”

I wrapped my fingers around the thick plastic of the handle. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.

She smiled angrily, shaking her head. “Neither do I. I know nothing about you. You give me nothing.”

“Because it’s all just shit!” I barked, running my hands through my hair. “I don’t want you to know those things about me. I don’t want it dirtying anything I have with you.” I leaned in, cupping her face, but she slapped my hands away again.