Page 58 of Sheltering You

“Ha. You can’t beat me.” With barely a thought, Rabie played a blue piece.

Even though Derrick hadn’t been in the room, they were speaking English. Had Jasmine asked him to do that? Or had they just not switched back?

“You think so?” She dropped a red disk into a slot.

He scowled and studied the game with narrowed eyes as if nothing had ever been more important, then dropped a piece in.

They went a few more turns, and then Jasmine settled back with a grin. “It seems I can beat you.”

Derrick expected the kid to be annoyed. Sportsmanship didn’t come easily to competitive nine-year-olds. With five older brothers, Derrick had learned that lesson.

Rabie stood and shouted in Arabic. Then, he swept the board and all the pieces off the coffee table—toward Jasmine.

She curled over, ducking and wrapping her arms around her middle.

Her instinct—that self-protection, as if she expected to be harmed or hit—might as well have been a punch to Derrick’s gut.

What had she endured that would cause that reaction?

The pieces scattered harmlessly across the area rug and the hardwood floor.

Rabie watched until they’d all stopped moving, then straightened his shoulders, planted his feet, and crossed his arms—the perfect King-of-Siam look—and peered down his nose at her. Though Derrick didn’t understand the words he spoke, his meaning was clear.

Clean it up, woman.

But she’d recovered from her instinctive fear, sitting up once again.

Her eyebrows rose. She didn’t move or cower. She didn’t hop to do the bidding of a child she could toss over her knee and spank. And probably should.

Well, except the kid was nearly as big as she was, so maybe it wouldn’t be as simple for her as it would be for Derrick.

He was about to step in and give Rabie another lesson on how to treat women. Not just women but humans in general. The kid needed to learn how real men behaved.

But Jasmine stood slowly. She took her time brushing off her dress, then stepped closer to him. Her expression was determined, but her dark skin was sallow, as if she were sick—or afraid. “I do not answer to you, child.” Her voice was strong, regardless of what she was feeling. “Pick up every piece and return them to the box.”

Rabie’s face turned red with fury. “I will not.”

“You will.”

He lowered his chin, not in humility but as if he were about to charge.

Derrick cleared his throat and stepped into the room. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move any closer. Just stood there and watched.

Rabie’s eyes rounded.

Jasmine’s gaze flicked from Derrick to Rabie, and he guessed she was waiting for him to come to her aid. But this was her fight, not his. He gave her the slightest go ahead nod and crossed his arms.

She turned back to the child. “Rabie, look at me.” Only when he did—reluctantly—did she continue. “When you behave unkindly, you must apologize to those you’ve hurt and, if possible, undo the damage you’ve done.” She gestured to the mess. “This was a small thing, simple to fix. But you must fix it. You must apologize to me and pick up the game—every piece. If you refuse, then you will go to the bedroom and stay there until you’re ready to do what I’ve asked.”

The kid turned to Derrick. Did he think he’d get help? No chance.

Rabie seemed to realize that. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit at the sight of his red backpack, which they’d dropped on a side table the night before. He started toward it.

Derrick got there first. “Uh-uh.”

Rabie froze halfway between Jasmine and Derrick.

“If you go to your room,” Jasmine said behind him, “you go without your toys.”