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That pink melts into a red as she realizes what I mean. “Oh. Sorry. I don’t, um…” She straightens and collects the now-empty bowls for the sink. “I need to get back to work.”
One minute, she’s warm and pliant in my arms.
The next, she’s gone.
Suddenly, I don’t like how the cold air feels.
My gaze lands back on Willow, who has been watching raptly this whole time.Fuck. I need to be more careful. I can’t afford to go and give the kid any grand ideas.
Or break her heart.
I swing a bar chair around the counter to sit across from Willow at the island, finally digging into my own half-melted bowl. “So, kiddo.” I take a bite and wait for her to look up at me. “I need to ask you something.”
“Sure!”
Except, now that the door is open, I’m not sure how to walk through. “Do you, ah…” I wait for her to stuff her face before I just rip the bandage off, keeping my voice low. “Do you miss your dad?”
Willow slows her chewing. She looks at me, then down at the bowl. My stomach twists as I watch her start to pull into herself.
“Hey,” I murmur, reaching for her hand. It’s an instinct that comes out of nowhere—my fingers resting on hers, not grabbing or squeezing, simply…reminding.“It’s okay. I just wanna make sure you’re happy, okay? That’s all.”
I’m not lying. I really do want her to be happy. And as much as I’m chanting to myself that it’s all part of The Ultimate Strategy,thatfeels like a lie.
Willow sighs and pokes at a chocolate chip with her spoon. “I feel bad.”
Shit.“Why?”
“Because…” She takes what feels like an eternity to finally continue. When she does, she blinks up at me with those long, dark lashes and I’m starting to understand why my best, most battle-scarred soldiers all turn to mush around her. “I don’t miss him. And… and he’s not… He’s not really my dad.”
I pause. That’s not at all what I expected to hear. “What do you mean?”
The kid’s only five, but she starts talking to me more like she’s fifty. “I know he’s myfather, because Mommy told me so. But I don’t think he acts like my daddy. Not like daddies are supposedto act. He yells too much and he scares me. And he hurts Mommy all the time. That scares me even more.”
I swallow down the fury that roils inside me along with the ice cream. “He hurts Mommy?”
Willow nods and glances over to her mother, who is diligently washing the windows on the other side of the adjoining dining room. “She used to cry a lot. Especially after storytime, when I was supposed to be asleep.”
I can’t ball a fist like I want to. I can’t punch a wall like I want to. I need Willow to know she can come to me and tell me anything, everything, without fear of anger, violence, or other repercussions. I need her to know this is a safe space where she can rat on the monsters in her life.
But I also really fucking need to hang Martin fucking Patterson on a hook and use him as my new punching bag.
“That must have been scary.”
She nods again. “It was. I don’t like it when Mommy cries. And I hate it when she screams.”
Now, I do freeze. “She screams at you?”
Willow fervently shakes her head. “No! Never. I mean, whenshescreams. Because of the way Martin hurts her.”
Just like that, the kid’s on a first-name basis with the man who’s supposed to be her dad.
And just like that, she and I have a lot more in common.
“What about now?” I play it cool, aloof. Like I don’t care what her answer will be, no matter how hard my heart starts pumping inside my rib cage.
Willow’s sad little face suddenly breaks into a bright grin. She even blushes. “I love it here. And Mommy does, too.”
“Oh? How do you know?”
