Caidyn’s laugh reveals he understands my ruse, but Demi is utterly oblivious. She whispers an apology to Caidyn when I remove her arms from his shoulders, spin her away from his buff body, then whack him in the stomach. “Go to bed, grandpa. Everyone knows you haven’t been up this late since high school.”
I jerk up my chin to Caidyn’s unvoiced request for us to have a word once Demi is settled before guiding her into the bathroom attached to the master suite. I’m not a paramedic, but I’ve got to do something to lessen the chance the split in her cheek will scar. Her eyes are so mesmerizing, I doubt anything could steal their devotion. I just don’t want to pop into her thoughts anytime she sees her scar. I want to be there for far better reasons than that.
“Holy shit,” Demi murmurs when our entrance into the bathroom has her spotting her reflection.
“It’s okay,” I assure her when she pivots away from herself, too horrified to look at the damage a member of her family did to her. “You don’t need to look. I just want to clean it up a little.”
To back up my pledge, I grab one of the king-size towels off the rack, then curl it over the mirror’s frame. Once it’s covered, I snag the first-aid kit out of the cupboard before placing it onto the vanity. Demi watches me with her arms curled around her midsection and her eyes fixed on the floor. When I nudge my head to the first-aid kit, she sheepishly shakes her head.
“I don’t care what I look like. I just don’t want you seeing me like this.”
Her eyes float up from the floor when I ask, “See you like what? Brave? Fucking strong?” I pull her arms down from her waist before carefully tugging her toward me. “I’ve seen grown men go down crying after one hit. You’ve yet to release a single tear.”
Her lips quiver as she struggles not to respond to the pride in my voice. I’d be a lying prick if I said her unshed tears aren’t cutting through me like a knife. I’d give anything to stop them from occurring, but since I know that will hurt her more in the long run, I have no choice but to encourage them.
I lift her to sit on the counter before saying, “While I get you cleaned up, why don’t you tell me about the time you made Robert Flint come in his pants with only a peck kiss.”
Demi waits for me to soak a handful of cotton balls in iodine before replying, “I’m not telling you about that.”
“Why not? It’s a funny story.”
“It is,” she agrees, smiling even with the gentle dabs of a cotton ball causing her pain. “But I don’t need to tell you what happened because you were right there, stalking me like you always were.”
Once I have the dried blood under her nose taken care of, I shift my focus to the gash in her cheek. “I wasn’t stalking. I was…” I’ve got fucking nothing. “Fine. I was stalking, but it wasn’t for me. I might have been pissed as hell that Saint showed an interest in you first, but that doesn’t mean I’d let any random guy mosey in on his turf.”
Demi hisses. I assume it’s from the iodine swab inching close to the gash in her cheek. I couldn’t be farther from the truth. “His turf? Jesus, Maddox. I’m not a piece of property.”
Since her voice doesn’t have an ounce of humor in it, I lower the cotton ball from her face, then lock my eyes with hers, ensuring she can see the truth in them when I say, “I know that. That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
With her mood not as hostile as it was moments ago, I give her the straight-up honesty she deserves. “I love my brother, so I didn’t want him gutted like I was when I realized I had blown my chance with you.”
Her drenched eyes bounce between mine for several long seconds before she whispers my name in a husky tone, “Maddox?”
“Yeah?”
After wetting her suddenly bone-dry lips, she asks, “Can you dab my cut with the iodine, so I have an excuse for my tears?”
I’d rather kiss her until crying is the last thing on her mind, but as my mother likes to say, crying is how your heart speaks.
“I could.” My response is short and direct but impacting. “Or you could let them fall and trust me to take care of you while they do.”
When she shakes her head, the first tear splashes onto her cheek. “I don’t want to cry.”
“Why not, Demi?” I ask while brushing away the salty blob sitting high on her cheek as if it’s insignificant.
She loses her battle to hold in her second and third tear when she replies, “Because if I cry, he’ll think he won.”
I’m as stoked as fuck she remembers the time I defended her in the second grade, but I keep my excitement on the down-low. This bully is worse than any we’ll face, and he’s related to her by blood.
After dumping the dirty cotton ball into the bin, I press my hands to each side of her thighs, then lower my head so we’re eye to eye. “I was wrong back then, Demi. Crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It usually only happens when you’ve been strong for too long.”
“Are you sure?” she asks through a sob.
I nod. “And if it isn’t, he’ll never know he won because I’ll never tell him you cried.” I brush my hand across her cheeks, being extra careful with her bruised one before lifting her into my arms and carrying her into my room. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll stay with me until the day I die.” As I hope you will too.
11
Maddox
“What do you mean there isn’t enough evidence?” I shout down the line, frustrated as fuck. “You saw her face at the restaurant. You know it wasn’t marked. Now fucking look at it.” I thrust my hand to the screen of my laptop as if Agent Moses can see the images I forwarded to him through my eyes. “Her eye is almost swollen shut.”
He huffs like I’m being unreasonable. “His legal counsel could argue the puffiness was from crying.”
“It wasn’t from crying.” I strangle the cabin’s landline phone as if it’s his neck. If I truly believed none of his annoyance centered around me not arriving for my fight Thursday night, I’d listen to what he has to say. But since I know more than half his grouchy attitude is because Dimitri, my part owner, would have chewed his ass out for my no-show, I’ll continue pushing until he gives me the answers I want. “She was assaulted on your fucking watch, Arrow. You could lose your badge over this.”
When Caidyn suggests that I lower my voice, I jerk up my chin before moving into the kitchen. It’s the furthest room away from the one Demi is sleeping in. The cabin has been through four remodels since my family has owned it, but it still has its original super long springy cable my mom twisted around her fingers while talking to our dad during their courtship.
Although Demi did cry last night—more than I ever wanted to witness—Agent Moses is wrong. The marks and cuts on her face I photographed an hour ago have nothing to do with the number of tears she shed. They were there long before the first tear spilled down her cheek, and to my fucking disgust, they’ll still be there days after her final tears.
“Col didn’t just slap Demi, Arrow. He hit her, closed fist.”