“I want to kill him, and I can’t.” He grabbed a pillow and punched it—and then stared, baffled, as it exploded and feathers rained down over both of us. “Well, that’s shoddy workmanship.”
I let out a laugh that bordered on a dry sob. “More like you don’t know your own strength, tough guy.”
He tossed aside the remnants of the pillow and leaned forward to cup my cheeks. “I’m not strong with you. But I’m the strongest I’ve ever been when it comes to keeping you safe.” He let his hands drop. “And God, I hate that I can’t go back into your past and protect you from that bastard.”
“It’s not your fight. It isn’t,” I murmured, laying a fingertip over his lips. “You’re with me, always, but you can’t fight it for me.”
He fell silent.
“You can do something for me though, and it’s going to be difficult. I’m sorry I even have to ask, but I don’t know who else to turn to.”
His lips curled in a ghost of a smile. “You mean more difficult than watching you walk into an octagon again?”
“Yes.” I forged ahead. “I want to speak to your father, in an official capacity. I need an attorney, and I don’t want to have this on the books anywhere. Not yet.”
It took him less than a moment to nod. “Yes. Of course. We’ll go on Monday.” He gripped my chin. “Then you’ll put it away until you kick Evie’s ass. Got it?”
Finally, a request I could agree to without hesitation.
“You bet your sweet ass.”
14
Tray
Multiple potential shitstorms were raging just outside the window, and what was I doing? Wrapping a casserole to take to dinner at my best buddy’s apartment.
“Be careful with that. It needs to breathe.” Sighing heavily, Carly grabbed her long-handled fork and poked holes in the foil covering her egg, cheese and bacon concoction. There were potatoes in it too, and chives, and a whole bunch of other things I couldn’t identify. I was pretty sure she’d layered in spinach, and she knew I hated the stuff. Not that she cared. She said it was good for me, and I needed more iron in my diet.
I’d rather chew on chain link fences for fun than eat that wilted shit.
But on the whole, she cooked like a goddess. And the plate of oatmeal, cranberry and chocolate chip cookies she was sending over to Slater’s helped soothe my wounded soul over the fricking spinach.
“Only two before dinner,” she said, catching me poking my finger under the clear cellophane covering the cookies. “You’ll spoil your appetite.”
“Jeez. You sound just like a mother.”
Her mouth tightened just long enough for me to curse my stupidly huge mouth. “That’s the biggest compliment you could pay me,” she said quietly. “I’d love to be even a little bit like my mother.”
Clearing my throat, I stepped back and fell into my usual role with her. Disapproving older brother stand-in. “You certainly don’t look like a parental unit in that outfit. Where are you going dressed like that?”
She rolled her eyes and slid a stack of “crudités”—whatever they were, they looked like celery and peanut butter to me—into a plastic container. “It’s just a dress.”
It was black, and had the usual parts of one—sleeves, neckline, hem. But otherwise just a dress didn’t cover it. “I can almost see your ass.”
“Gross. You shouldn’t be looking at my ass.”
“I didn’t. It practically assailed me when I reached for a cookie.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Last minute party before culinary school starts. You know how it is.”
There was silver glittery shit in her hair. I couldn’t tell if it was tinsel leftover from Christmas or something she’d actually draped in it on purpose. “Another one? Mia said you went out last night for the same reason.”
“So my friends are cool and want me to celebrate before I hit the books. And the culinary boards.” She giggled, but something about it sounded false to my admittedly oversensitive ear. “Ease off, dad.”
I wanted to say more. Almost did. Like I’d noticed her wearing too much makeup too often lately, and at times when she claimed she was just heading to her salad shop job. Then there was the money I’d seen in her wallet the other day when she’d offered to spring for pizza. A starving college student shouldn’t be walking around with wads of money like that, should they? Not in my experience. I came from money, and I hadn’t had that much on me at her age very often.
But I wasn’t her father. I wasn’t even legally her brother-in-law. Plus I was admittedly on edge more than usual lately, and I could very well be seeing things that weren’t problematic at all. With everything going on with Mia and my family, I was probably jumping at shadows that didn’t exist.