CHAPTER362
He was too old for this shit now. He was turning twenty-six in a few months, and the last thing he needed anymore was all this drama, every week of his life with her. He missed the Sophie who used to be happy to go out with him, go away together or just hang out doing normal stuff, like jet skiing, playing Xbox, snowboarding, watching foreign cartoons and vegetating, or any of the other pastimes they had shared in the past few years. He missed the small things, before she started dating assholes, and living on the edge of wild. He just missed her, endlessly.
What he wouldn’t give for a sober call, and that sweet voice on the other end just asking him how his day was, instead of crying for another rescue. He had no clue how they had even got here.
“Are you mad at me?” Her crestfallen tone and the start of tears made him instantly guilty, that ache in his stomach and pang in his chest. Sophie wasn’t much of a crier unless she thought Arrick was pissed at her and he never understood why she fell to pieces when he was mad. She sure as hell didn’t give a shit if any of her adoptive family got pissed at her, especially not her sister or Mom, whom she had been closest to. To his recollection, she didn’t really get upset when her own friends did, but then Sophie had found keeping friends outside of the family hard, especially with her past and all the demons it held. She didn’t really trust people enough to form real bonds, so he knew how important it was that he stayed in her life, even when she was behaving like a train wreck on a path to destruction. Not that he had a choice; life had a way of feeling empty when he didn’t hear from her for weeks, and thankfully he had only endured that a couple of times.
“No, Mimmo, I’m not mad, Sophie. Go inside, stay warm and wait for me.” He tried to soften his tone, soothing her drunken ruffled feathers gently, in a bid to coerce her to do as he wanted. When she was like this, she was an overgrown child he needed to manage carefully; that internal spitfire of hers ready to overreact and bite, even if it only hurt herself.
Sophie was someone who was easily pushed into the defensive, closing up and lashing out at those who mattered, when trying to protect herself, and being drunk escalated it tenfold. She had always been that way and very few had his skill at knowing how to handle her. Too stubborn to think logically or realize she was cutting off her nose to spite her face sometimes.
He upped his speed, putting his new car through its paces to get to her a little quicker as the tension in his body escalated. It was late, almost ten p.m. and the city was aglow with the usual never-ending illumination of New York, as his sleek steel gray Mercedes slid through the night effortlessly. He was biting his lip as his eyes roamed the traffic impatiently, checking his mirrors as he shifted in his seat.
She always made him feel anxious when she was like this, so many scenarios running through his head of what could happen to her, and his inner body twisting the tango of uptight anxiety. Sophie was naive at the best of times, but drunk, she was completely oblivious to danger, considering her past, and seemed to have a knack for attracting it.
“I’m sorry … Arry?” She started to sob, and he just felt worse. He hadn’t even yelled at her this time, so he had no idea why she was crying. He had stopped yelling at her months ago when he realized it no longer had any effect on her behavior, and he hated Sophie crying; it made him feel like a shitty human being when those hurt doe eyes hit him, right in the stomach.
He had seen enough of her tears over the years in connection to what her sick perverted father had done to her and that’s all he saw now. That vulnerable broken face, racked with scars and pain from a childhood that could have destroyed her. Arrick stiffened as that stab of rage spiked inside like a fiery hot spear.
Whenever he thought of that asshole he wanted to kill him; the fact he could take someone as innocent and sweet as her and ruthlessly abuse her for years made him want to rip the guy’s spine out and ram it down his throat. He was fiercely protective of her, knowing everything he knew, being there for every therapy appointment and tearful outpouring when she needed to talk.
Sophie had let him in in ways that no one else had been allowed, and the depth of her dark confessions ripped his soul out repeatedly, at the misery she endured. Listening to it almost ended him, so he had no idea how she ever endured it and stayed sane. He vowed long ago that he would always protect her, that he would destroy any guy who dared to ever lay hands on her against her will again, and it was an oath he would uphold for an eternity.
Sophie was his warrior! Despite all of it, she had risen through the memories like an invincible flame, and she had blossomed despite that asshole. He had never known anyone as strong as her; pride washing through him at her achievement as he thought of how much she overcame in a bid to move on. Arrick inhaled heavily, calming his outward persona as affection for her reigned supreme.
“Come on, Sophs. Don’t. You know I can’t handle it when you cry. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or less. Go, be a good girl and get back in the club for me.” He could make out the noise of the street around her and the tell-tale shake of her voice that she was shivering. Frowning hard again, at something else she was doing to herself with zero care for her own wellbeing-, and it just angered him crazily. She had probably come out without a jacket again, wearing something way too short and skimpy, and not giving a crap that it was late in the season and exposure was something that could kill her."
