Seeing such a large, brutal man, his bruises even more prominent the morning after, at ease with my one-year-old daughter does strange things to my insides. There’s guilt that she’s had to grow up without a father. There’s fear that this precious light will somehow be extinguished.
And worst of all, something like hope aches in my chest. Because Luca is so unbearably gentle in this moment. I hadn’t known he could be like that. Hadn’t dared imagine it.
As if sensing me, Luca looks up and meets my gaze. “Good morning.”
The words catch in my throat. All I can do is nod.
He gestures to Delilah. “I hope this is okay. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s perfect,” I whisper.
Carefully, so as not to disturb the picnic blanket, Luca stands. His body unfolds larger than I remembered, as if he’s built for different rooms. Barracks instead of a crappy apartment. A gladiator ring instead of the parking lot of the Last Stop. He’s a soldier. A fighter.
“The car’s waiting outside,” he says more quietly, glancing back at Delilah to make sure she’s still occupied. She’s given up on the cracker and is sticking her fingers directly in the jar.
“I’ll just be a minute to pack what’s left. You should have woken me up.”
He frowns. “You didn’t get enough sleep as it is.”
My body agrees with him, reminding me that I had a long shift last night, the small aches and subtle bruises pointing out the places where Jimmy John grabbed me before Luca stepped in. “I’m fine,” I say. “Whatever we need to do to get Delilah to safety.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ll be able to sleep on the plane.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The sound he makes raises the hair on my neck. “Someone needs to take care of you, little bird. If you aren’t going to do it, then I sure as hell will.”
I flinch. “Don’t swear in front of her. Please.”
“She doesn’t mind.”
My cheeks flush with warmth, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. I know that people swear out in the world. Adults use words like hell and damn. It doesn’t mean anything. But I can’t shake the twinge of fear I feel every time I hear them any more than I can cut my hair. I’m too well trained. I’m Leader Allen’s creature, even now that he’s dead.
Luca’s expression softens. “I’ll try not to swear.”
I expected him to fight me to the death on this. How does a man like him take orders from someone like me? It doesn’t make sense. He could have insulted me, called me names. He could have sworn a blue streak, and as long as he held the key to Delilah’s safety, I would’ve had to bear it.
Instead he’s given in, leaving me disarmed and off balance. “Thank you.”
“I followed you from city to city, tracking you until I found you in that stink hole they call the Last Stop. How the hell—” He shakes his head, looking bewildered. “How did you survive in a place like that?”
Every word feels like a blow. Every touch I couldn’t control rips at my soul. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do—and the easiest. I glance at Delilah, who has now turned the peanut butter jar upside down and created a cracker tower on top. “She makes everything possible.”
He glances back at her. “Yeah. I think I’m starting to understand that.”
I can’t help but ask. “How did you track me?”
“That long hair,” he says, laughing softly. “Bread crumbs wherever you go.”
I manage not to flinch, but it still feels like a slap. It’s a weakness, this hair. It’s a weakness that I still feel beholden to all the tenets I was taught as a child. They were drilled into me. Literally written into my skin. I can’t forget them any more than I can become a different person.
“Will you cut it?”
“Of course not,” he says softly. “It’s beautiful.”
Awareness sinks in. “And it’s part of the trap. The bread crumbs.”
His eyes darken as he studies me. “Everywhere I went, people remembered your hair. That was the first thing, what people notice the first time they meet you.”