Chapter 17 I scream, tears instantly soaking my cheeks as I hear Hazel cry out for me. "You bastard! Let her go." I thrash against him, fighting him with everything I can. "She's a little girl. What kind of monster are you?" He presses me harder, showing me exactly what kind of monster he is. My face grinds deeper into the unforgiving brick, scraping more of my cheek beneath my eye. He's twice my size and has a hell of a lot more muscle. I jab my elbow back and clip his ribs, but he doesn't let me get far before he cracks my face back against the wall. His hand squeezes my throat, my teeth sinking so deep into my lip I taste blood. Hazel is screaming and crying, and I can't take it. "It's okay, baby. Mama's okay," I tell her, because what else can I do? I hate that she's going through this. That's she's as scared as I am. That this could very well imprint itself in her mind and body, affecting her in ways we haven't yet discovered. "You bastard, she's only a little girl." His hot breath fans against my ear, and I whimper, unable to stop it. "I'm gonna let you go tonight, honey. But only because your kid is screaming. The next time I see you"-he licks my tears, and bile climbs up the back of my throat- "this body is mine for whatever I want." He slams against me, knocking the wind from my lungs, but then he's gone, and Hazel is sobbing beside me, hugging my leg. I wipe my face, feeling blood and tears everywhere, but I pick her up and get us home. She's a mess. I'm a mess. And as I get us into our apartment, I set her down with her toys and run for our bathroom. The right side of my face is cut up, bleeding, and already bruised. There's no way this is getting better instead of worse. I'm going to have to call out tomorrow from clinical and from Monroe. Fuck! My hands meet the rim of the pedestal sink, and I shake as I do my best to hold in the sobs raking through me. I give myself a minute, but not more than that. My baby needs me. I turn on the faucet to cold and wash my face, wincing at the burn and the pink tint of water as it goes down the drain. By the time I come out of the bathroom, I'm Mary Poppins again, singing and dancing and swallowing the harsh pill of my life down with a spoonful of sugar. I make us dinner and turn on the TV for her so she can watch and not focus on anything other than the joy of Bluey. I text my clinical supervisor and tell her I'm really sick and won't be able to make it, but hopefully by Wednesday. Then I text Vander the same thing. Unfortunately, he replies instantly. Vander: What's up? You okay? Is Hazel sick? I know you were with Katy today, so I hope everyone else stays healthy. Ugh. Does he have to know everything? Dammit. That doesn't fit, and I just hope he doesn't call me out on it. Me: So far, it's just me. It came on fast. Sorry. I think I'll be better by the end of the week, I hope. Vander: Sure. No worries. Feel better. Me: Thanks. I can work from home. I have my laptop. He doesn't reply, and I let it go as I eat with Hazel and let her watch a million more minutes of TV than I regularly let her because it's distracting and happy and talks about freaking friendship and love. Just as Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood is ending, there's a knock on our door. Ice slithers through my veins, and reluctantly, I check the peephole on our door. Vander. What the absolute fuck is he doing here? "Um. Hi." "Hey. I was nearby and brought you some soup and some medicine." One, there's no way he was anywhere nearby. Two, is he trying to make me cry again? He brought me soup and medicine?! "Thanks. But I'm super contagious." Cough. Cough. "Just leave it outside the door, and I'll grab it after you go." Cough. Cough. "Sure. Yeah. Here you go. Feel better." He bends to set the stuff on the floor, and then he's gone, likely heading down the hall back toward the stairs. I sag against the door. That was easier than I thought it was going to be with him. Unlatching the locks on the door, I swing it open, but as I go for the plastic bag on the ground, a hand comes out of nowhere and cups my face. I yelp, jumping back, and crap. How did I not anticipate this? He snatches the bag off the floor, but his eyes on my face are hard enough to cut a diamond. "Liora," he grits out. "I'm only going to ask you this once. Who did this to you?" I shake my head, my throat growing thick with emotion. "Please, Vander. Just let it go." He walks me back into my apartment, his hard gaze never leaving my face. "It was that guy. He didn't learn his fucking lesson." It's not a question, and I don't reply. He looks around, noting Hazel holding Bunny and staring at him. He smiles and crouches down so he's her height. "Hi, Hazel. I'm your mommy's friend, Vander. Do you like ice cream?" She looks at him and then at me. I smile and nod, and she turns back to him. "Yes." S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ƒindNoᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "What's your favorite flavor?" "Chocolate." His smile grows. "Chocolate is my favorite too. Do you like brownies? I love chocolate ice cream with brownies in it. I was thinking I could bring us all a special dessert. What do you say? Do you want some?" She holds her bunny closer and nods again. "Perfect. I'm going to go get us dessert, and I'll be back soon." He walks over to my small freezer, opens it up, finds a bag of frozen peas, and hands it to me. "Lock the door. I'll be right back. Keep that on your face." Without another word, he's gone, and I lock the door. Not because he told me to, but because this night is proving to be a total shit show. Hazel's quiet, and I hate that she's quiet. She's only two and a half but perceptive enough to know that this isn't how life's supposed to be and that she's not as safe as she ought to be. I bring the peas with me and sit with Hazel and play dolls and watch TV and sing along, and fifteen minutes later, there's another knock on my door. I startle, though I don't know why. I knew he'd come back. I open the door, and there he is, holding a plastic bag filled with pints of ice cream, a can of whipping cream, and rainbow sprinkles. His hair is in wild disarray, and his cheeks are flushed red with heat and sweat. He shuts the door behind him, hands me the bag, and immediately goes for the sink to wash his hands. "What did you do?" I ask, my voice soft so Hazel doesn't overhear, as I unpack the ice cream. Chocolate, chocolate fudge brownie, and chocolate chip cookie dough. The last one is my favorite. He remembered. I stare down at it, already too raw with too many emotions. He throws me a quick side-eye before returning to his hands loaded with small cuts bleeding the same pink into the sink the way my face did. "He won't bother you again." "Vander, what did you do?" I bite out, each word a sharp staccato. He shuts off the tap and turns to meet my eyes as he wipes his hands on a dish towel. In the bag along with the ice cream is antibiotic ointment, and I pull it out and dab some on his cuts, waiting him out. He watches me dress his cuts and utters, "I took care of it." "Tell me." He puffs out a breath and takes the ointment from me, then dabs it on my face over my scrapes. "I broke his hands because he put them on you and his legs because he admitted to chasing you. I threw him in the dumpster and left him crying like a little bitch. If his hands are broken, he can't touch you or Hazel, and if his legs are broken, he can't chase you either." A shudder runs through me. What he did should scare the crap out of me. He just broke a man's bones, and it's not the first time he was violent on my behalf. But I also know he'd never hurt me. It's not who he is. He's a protector, not an aggressor. He's nothing like my father, who preys on the weak. Vander hurt Ricky because he hurt me. I nod and swallow, suddenly shaking so badly I can hardly stand. My teeth sink into my lip, and he cups my face, his thumbs brushing tears I hadn't realized I allowed to fall. He looks as broken and tormented as I feel. "No, baby. Don't cry. It's okay. You're safe now. I swear, you're safe." He pulls me into his chest and holds me, and I lose it. I can't... I can't do this. Not now. Not with him. Not like this. "Don't call me baby." "What?" He pulls back, his hands back on my face, wiping more stupid tears. "Don't call me baby like that." I shake my head and grip his shirt in my fists. "I can't..." I blow out a breath, desperate to regain control. "Just don't." He smiles. "Do you remember the first time I called you that?" I do, but I shake my head anyway. "We were at the playground at the elementary school. We snuck out. Well, you snuck out, and I met you there. I held your hand and kissed you for the first time. I said, 'Baby, I'm gonna kiss you now,' and I did. You told me you weren't the type of girl who went around kissing every boy. That you wouldn't be just some girl for me to kiss before I moved on to the next." His fingers trace the lines of my face. "I said, 'Then I guess I'll have to make you my girlfriend so the only one I kiss is you.'" My forehead meets his chest, and I bite my lip to the point of drawing blood so I don't sob. What is he doing to me? I'm desperate to keep him out, and he's worming his way back in. He's not even trying to, and I doubt that's what he wants, but how do I stop it when he's like this? He pulls my face up and catches on my lip. Before I know what he's doing, he dips, and just as I think he's about to kiss me, he takes my bottom lip between his and sucks on it, tasting my blood and licking the sting of the cut with his tongue. My eyes close, and my grip on his shirt tightens. Mercifully, he pulls back, his expression intent once again. "Why are you still dancing?" That catches me off guard, but I don't bother to ask how he knows. There's no point. "Because you could fire me tomorrow, and all that money would disappear in a second. Trust me, I know how fast things can change like that. Besides, I have too many bills right now, and dancing pays well and is all I have time for as a second job. If I want out of this neighborhood, I need more than just your paycheck right now to get us there." He grits his teeth and stares at my cheek, which is hot and swollen. "Everyone told me I can't follow you. That I can't-" He blows out a harsh, frustrated breath and drops his forehead to my shoulder, his hands around the small of my back. Instinctively, my fingers run through the soft strands of his hair. "Can't what?" I question when he doesn't say more. His head pops up, and his troubled green eyes meet mine before they drop to my lips and hold. "Can't do anything I want." He stares at my mouth, and I don't dare move. Finally, he clears his throat and looks out into my apartment. "You're moving from here. Tomorrow morning, we're moving you." "Um. No." His gaze snaps back to mine. "Yes. You're moving in with me. Because I can keep you safe, and then you and Hazel won't be living in a building where your neighbors are cooking meth and the guy on the corner who sells it attacks you when he feels like it." "No." He's incredulous. "How can you say no?" "Because I can do it myself, and I can't live with you." "Will you let me get you a place?" My eyes narrow. "No. I don't want your money beyond what I earn." "So stubborn, my angel." His thumb glides just beneath my cut. "Don't do it for me. Don't even do it for yourself. Do it for Hazel." He grabs the bag of ice cream from the counter and starts to go through my cabinets, finding bowls and spoons. I don't have an ice cream scoop, so he moves past that as he makes Hazel a sundae that has her squealing. He sits on the floor beside her, eating ice cream and watching more Daniel Tiger. A sob catches in my throat. He made me a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough with sprinkles and no whipped cream because, again, he remembered I don't care for it. He pats the space beside him, and reluctantly, I take it. "Vander, stop. You have to stop doing all of this." I was getting by. I was managing. He's breaking me, and I cannot break again. I have to stay strong or I'll crumble. "I live on a quiet, tree-lined street five blocks from Central Square and the T station there. I have a big backyard, but there's also a park down the street. You and Hazel would have your own rooms. Own bathrooms. You'd hardly have to see me, and you can save all the money you want. Enough where you'll feel comfortable paying off your student loans and the ridiculous bills your ex left you with." "I can't⁠-" "It'll give you safety and breathing room. It'll give you peace, Liora. Imagine not having to worry that the rug will be pulled out from under you. Because it won't be. Not ever." I search his eyes. "Why are you doing this? Why'd you give me this job and bring me soup and ibuprofen? Why'd you go out and hurt the guy who hurt me? Why are you demanding that I move myself and my child into your home?" The questions catch him off guard, though I can't imagine how. They're the most logical questions after a ridiculous offer like that. I don't even know what I expect his answer to be, but I have to ask all the same because none of this makes sense. I was sixteen when he walked out of my life, and yes, it hurt and broke my adolescent heart. But we were kids, and it was ten years ago. So I don't... get any of this. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, and I see a battle raging in his. A fight he's determined to win because Vander Moore never loses. Not ever. Even when he fights himself. "Because all of it is what needs to be done. Because I can't stand the thought of you sleeping here one more night, let alone more. Tomorrow, we'll move you. Don't open your door again until I come back for you." With that, he says goodnight to Hazel, stands, and leaves, and I need to say no. I need to say no to him. He's crossing lines. He's already crossed so many with me, and those red flags are enough that I should do the safe thing. Vander Moore is irresistibly dangerous. He's undeniably corrupt. And he's shaking the very foundation I'm built to survive on. So I need to say no to him. I'm just not sure how, when everything he's offering me is exactly what I need.