F*ck Chris

Dane

While Chris continued to swear down the phone at John about how he didn't care about the fucking law, Dane finally turned to find Lila. They'd been working for an hour and he'd been so focused, he hadn't realized she'd gone over to the couch. 

She'd pulled her legs up and curled them under her, snuggling into his big sweatshirt, elbow on the back of the couch, and her temple resting on her fist. She looked little, and young, and desperately sad. Dane's heart sank. He wanted nothing more than to shield her from this—from everything. He wished he could put himself between her and the rest of the world. Especially his father. Every day. Every moment. He wished there was a way to buffer her from any kind of struggle or pain.