Misstaken ✓ | #Wattys2019

14. p r o t e c t o r

He lifted a hand and stepped forward, snarling. Come here—"

He wrung his hands. I should be fighting back, but it was so hard to charge at him. It wasn't because I still thought of him as blood-related, but it was just because...

All the memories flooded back. How he got away with it, so many times...

He brought up his hand —

But nothing came.

Nicholas was there first.

He stepped in front of me and struck out a hand immediately. I guess I'd been right about his physique. He could throw a crazy punch, enough for the man to reel back into the wall and slam into it.

Nick was teeming with rage. Never before have I seen him like this. He charged forward and drove into his jaw, then kicked the side. There was no stopping him.

He sneered. "How dare you —"

I could have let him go on. It was satisfying to see that monster hurt, broken. But then sense appealed to me.

"Nick, stop! Don't do anything you'll regret —" I held him back. The second he heard his name, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He listened to me.

The man laughed so deviously, I was certain he was the evil Joker. "Go on. Finish me, you coward!"

Nick finally stepped back. "That's for her to do."

With an arm protectively around me, we left the house. I bit back my tears as we got into his car.

Even though I was sensitive now, there was something about Nick's touch that I craved. He held my hand and patted it gently, coaxing me. "It's okay. Let it all out."

"No, I— You shouldn't see me like this." He thought I was Zara. Zara didn't own a house like that, and definitely didn't have a stepfather like that.

"I can't believe you're thinking about that in this situation." Nick sputtered as if it was the most ludicrous thing in the world. Trying to suppress it, he started driving away. Anywhere but here.

Odd choice, but it was the closest option. He moved us to the parking lot outside a Chick-fil-A just so we could talk.

Nicholas got out of the car. He went to my side, opened the door and crouched in front of me. His voice was small, soothing, but undeniably hurt.

"You didn't think about telling me why you couldn't go home? I would have gone in with you! Jeez, Emma, if I hadn't gone in, can you imagine what might have happened?"

My world screeched to a stop. I was certain I had heard him wrong.

"Wh—What did you just call me?"

Did he just say —

"Emma." He spoke clearly. It was noon, yet his eyes seemed to reflect the night. Crouched in front of me, he seemed vulnerable. Exposed. Like he was bearing his heart to me —

I looked down at myself. I hadn't had time to change, so I was still in his shirt. And the last time he saw me in this shirt, he called me Zara.

I was so confused. Who did he think I was?

"How did you know where to find me?"

"After you left like that, you didn't think I'd be worried? I followed you, and when I heard the commotion I figured something wasn't right."

After I left? So, he let me stay the night knowing I was the girl he met at Sandwich King?

That didn't add up. Because we were having dinner as Zara and Nick. Did that mean —