Mallicks: Back to the Beginning (Mallick Brothers 5)

Because with him, I could be soft.

He wouldn't take advantage of it.

He wouldn't see it as a weakness.

I felt hands cradling my face, forcing it upward.

Chin lifted, I saw him through the watery depths of my eyes.

Busted.

His beautiful face was wrecked.

His eyes were half swollen shut, but looked worried, almost frantic as he lowered himself downward, wincing the whole time, pulling me forward until I was nestled against his chest, his arms around me.

And I just let it out.

Sobbed it out.

Until all of it was drained from me.

I wasn't sure how long that took, but his shirt was wet through by the time I finished.

"Baby, what happened?" he asked, voice dripping with concern, a sound that made my eyes swim again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

I blinked the tears back, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"We need to talk inside," I said, words heavy with meaning.

Luckily, Charlie had been in the criminal underbelly long enough to understand my meaning.

I rose to my feet, looking down as Charlie paused.

"It's gonna take me a minute, babe," he told me, sucking in a steadying breath. "My ribs are bruised," he added. "Makes the whole standing up and sitting down thing hard."

"Can I help?" I asked, reaching down toward him, snagging him around his bicep.

"Between you and the doorjamb, I should make it," he agreed, grabbing the wood as he started to move his legs beneath him, hissing and cursing as he did.

"I'm sorry," I said, leaning my forehead into his arm when he finally got to his feet.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I'm the reason you're hurting," I reminded him.

"No. I'm the reason I'm hurting. I knew what I was getting into, Helen, what the possible outcomes were. This included. Now, fuck my baby pains," he brushed it off, even though it looked like every breath was hurting him. And a man like him, used to pain, that meant that there was nothing babyish about his injuries. "What happened?"

Where the hell did I even begin?

I guess at the beginning.

"Vicky told me to get out of town," I told him, pulling him with me gently toward the bed, pushing him down slowly off the end while I stood, pacing a little, brushing my damp hair out of my face. "But... I don't know. I went home to confront my father."

"Helen..."

There was fear in his voice.

"He... they were waiting for me."

"Fuck."

"He killed Helga," I said, the words wrenched from my soul, the pain sharp and unbearable, making me press my hand to my heart.

I hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

To tell her I loved her.

To thank her for being a mother when I was left without one.

"Helen," Charlie said, voice soft, reaching out to me.

Maybe thinking that was the end of the story, that was the reason I broke.

It was a big part.

But not everything.

"I snapped, Charlie," I admitted, voice cracking. "I snapped and I threw the lion at him. And he dropped the gun... and... and..."

"Fuck," he hissed, arm flying out, snagging my arm, stilling my pacing, forcing me to face him. "Okay. Alright. We'll handle it. I'll handle it."

"I killed him," I admitted in a raw whisper.

"That's okay. It's alright. I will deal with it."

My head lifted, gaze finding his, those piercing blue eyes assuring me that he would do whatever it took to keep me safe, keep me free.

And I couldn't help but wonder what the hell I had ever done in my life to deserve that.

From him.

From Connor.

From Detective Collings.

I felt so unworthy of all their goodness.

"You don't need to," I assured him, shaking my head.

"Baby..."

"Detective Collings handled it," I blurted out, making his head jerk back.

"Connor Collings's old man?"

"He... Michael was shooting at my door," I added, knowing my story sounded crazy and convoluted, the fever dream of a hysterical woman, but I rushed into it, begging him with my conviction to believe me as I told him about the swabs, the story, the trip downtown where I, well, framed my brother for murder.

"Jesus Christ," Charlie said when I was done, feeling like everything had been drained from me, like I was a washrag wrung dry. "Baby," he said, watching as I worried my lower lip with my teeth. "That's it," he declared.

"What?"

"That's it. You're free."

Free.

It was such a foreign concept.

Even when I dreamed of running away, I think there was always a part of me that knew I would never be free. Not really. I would be running my entire life, looking over my shoulder, worrying when I thought I heard my name called.

There was no freedom in running away.

Not when there was always a trail to be sniffed out.

Not when someone with a bloodhound nose could follow it and find you at any time.

That kind of freedom still had a cage of sorts.

But this... this was the only way I could truly be free.