Deep Attraction: Keep Me Safe

Chapter 3

Caity

(Two years later)

The wind is fierce today, whipping through the trees and dragging the dying leaves across the ground. Their colors should be beautiful—warm, comforting. They used to be. Fall was always my favorite season. But not anymore. Not after everything.

We walk toward our destination in silence, each step crushing leaves that once made me smile. Now the sound only reminds me of how easily things break. I clutch my necklace so tightly it digs into my palm, clinging to it like it's the only thing keeping me together.

I wish... God, I wish things could be different.

Matt and I stand in front of the grave, side by side. The cold air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it over the heaviness sitting in my chest. Tears spill before I can stop them, sliding down my face in quiet streams as I try to hold myself together.

It's been a year.

One year since cancer stole our mother from us.

It spread too fast—too aggressive for chemotherapy, too late for radiation. By the time we knew, hope had already slipped through our fingers. And even now, it still feels unreal.

I hear Matt breathe in sharply beside me, the kind of breath someone takes when they're trying not to fall apart. He's always tried to be strong—for me, for both of us—but his voice cracks when he whispers, "She would've been so proud of you, Caity."

When I look up at him, his jaw is tight, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. He swallows hard, blinking up at the sky like he's begging the tears not to fall. But one escapes anyway, trailing down his cheek.

Without saying anything else, he reaches for my hand, squeezing it tightly. His grip trembles.

In that moment, we're just two kids again—standing in a world that suddenly feels too big without her.

And for once, neither of us tries to be strong. We just stand there, grieving together.

Things have been... okay, for the most part.

Or at least as okay as they can be after everything.

Our father apologized—actually apologized—for what he tried to do to me when I was fourteen. The memory still claws at me, still makes my stomach twist, but hearing him acknowledge it was something I never thought would happen.

After Mom passed away, something in him finally broke. He checked himself into rehab, got clean, and now he's trying—really trying—to be the father he should have been from the start. A part of me wants to believe him... to believe that people can change.

But another part of me remembers the fear, the betrayal, and how close I came to losing myself that night.

It took me a long time to forgive my father, but it took Matt even longer. Eventually, we moved back into our old house and tried to rebuild some sense of family, even though a piece of us will always be missing. I wish she were still here—maybe then we could have been the perfect family I once hoped for. But we take it one day at a time, holding on to what we can and learning to live with what we've lost.

Things were good for a while, and I thought it might finally last—dad had made a promise. But we should have known better. Promises weren't something he could keep.

For a few months, he put on an act, pretending to be the man we wanted him to be. But slowly, the cracks started showing. First, it was just one beer. Then, he began coming home intoxicated more and more often.

The one thing he did keep? He never laid a hand on me again. That, at least, was a promise he managed to keep.

The wind picked up, tugging at my hair and clothes like it was trying to pull me apart from the inside out. A storm was coming, and I could feel it—not just in the sky, but in my chest.

Matt grabbed my arm gently, his eyes sharp as he urged we go home before it hit. I nodded, though every step toward the car felt heavier than the last.

We whispered a few more words to Mom, our voices trembling in the wind. I wanted to stay, wanted to cling to her a little longer, but the storm wasn't waiting. Neither were we.

As we turned toward the car, the wind howled around us, echoing the emptiness I felt inside, carrying the grief that would follow us home.

The ride home was quiet, but we didn't mind. The silence felt heavy, yet comforting. We made it just in time—the first drops of rain began to fall as we pulled into the driveway. Tonight promised a horrible storm, but somehow, it didn't bother me.

We went our separate ways to change into our pajamas before meeting in the living room. I loved these small moments—slipping into soft, comfortable clothes, wrapping myself in a blanket, and curling up on the couch. Watching the sky light up with flashes of lightning while a scary movie played on the TV made me feel... alive, in a small, fleeting way. It was the kind of peace I hadn't felt in a long time.

Unfortunately, it was Matt's choice of movie—and, of course, he picked Annabelle, the creepy doll he knows terrifies me. He plopped down on the couch, placing the bowl of popcorn between us.

"I hate you for putting this on when you know how much I hate it," I whined, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide my nerves.

He chuckled, unfazed, and pressed play.

Halfway through the movie, the tension on the screen was nothing compared to what slammed into the room next—our father stumbled through the front door, reeking of alcohol and louder than ever.

He glares at both of us for a moment, but then his eyes lock on me, sharp and burning with something I can't name. My chest tightens, and I can't breathe right. I don't know what he's thinking, and I can't bring myself to speak.

"Y-ou look like your mother... and I hated your mother," he growls, each word slicing through the room like a knife.

I try to answer, to defend myself, to say anything—but nothing comes out. My throat feels raw, my mouth frozen. Tears prick at my eyes, and I clamp my hands over them, desperate to stop them from spilling. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

The air feels thick, almost suffocating. Every instinct screams at me to run, to escape, but I can't. I'm frozen, trapped under the weight of his gaze and the memory of everything I once feared. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum of warning.

It's barely a minute before Matt stands, fists clenched, and storms forward, punching our dad square in the face. "Don't ever say you hated our mother!" he shouts. "She was a great mother—but you'd never know that. You drank through every chance you had to see how amazing she was. And I'm so glad she got away from you."

I look back and forth between them, my chest tightening with dread. I have no idea what will happen next—but it's worse than I could have imagined.

Blood drips from Dad's broken nose, staining his shirt. Without hesitation, he pulls out his cell phone, dials a number, and holds it to his ear. "Hello... I would like an officer at my house immediately. My son has put his hands on me, and I want to press charges."

He hangs up and smirks at us, a chilling look of triumph on his face—as if he's finally won.

I feel frozen, shocked that Dad actually called the police just because Matt defended me—and because he couldn't stand what was said about our mother. I glance at Matt, but he doesn't say a word. He just walks out the door, not even sparing me a look.

"Why, Dad?" I whisper, staring at him in complete shock. I never thought he could sink this low.

"I will not stand here and allow some boy to put his hands on me without consequences," he says coldly. "So yes—he'll pay the price. And as for you..." He smiles, a slow, twisted curve of his lips. "I have something planned for you."

He turns and walks out the door, leaving me frozen in place as he waits outside for the police to arrive.

It doesn't take long for a police car to pull into our driveway. I rush outside, heart pounding, and watch everything unfold in front of me. In seconds, I see the officer reading my brother his rights, handcuffing him, and escorting him toward the car.

I run over, desperation rising. "Please... at least let me say goodbye before you take him away."

The officer nods, and I wrap my arms around Matt's waist, burying my face in him as tears fall freely.

"Caity, please don't cry. It's going to be okay. I'll be out before you know it. Take care of yourself, stay strong... I love you."

Before I can say more, another officer gently pulls me back. "I love you too, Matthew," I whisper, watching as they place him in the back seat. I stay frozen, watching the car drive away, waves of grief, anger, and helplessness crashing over me.

I feel someone step up beside me, and I don't have to look to know it's my father.

"Get in the car," he says. "There's somewhere we need to go. I have to take you tonight before there's a target on my head."

I finally glance at him, and the anger in his eyes makes my stomach twist. I obey—not because I trust him, but because Matt isn't here to protect me anymore.

The drive takes about an hour, my anxiety building with every passing mile. I stare out the window, my chest tightening, terrified of whatever he has planned. Deep down, I know it isn't anything good.

He pulls into a parking lot, and I immediately recognize the building—it's a strip club. Panic grips me.

"What are we doing here, Dad..." I whisper, my voice trembling.

He doesn't answer, stepping out of the car and waiting for me to follow. I obey, swallowing my fear, knowing there's no choice if I want to avoid further consequences.

We walk to the back of the building, and he knocks twice on a heavy door. Moments later, it opens, revealing a man in his mid-forties, who gestures for us to come inside.

I've been through a lot in my life—most of it terrible, thanks to my father and his drinking—but I never imagined he would go this far: selling me to a stranger to pay off a debt. My home, my safety, everything I've known—it's gone. I realize with a sickening certainty that tonight will change everything.

My father takes one last look at me, then turns, walks back to his car, and drives away—leaving me behind.