I swallow a breath and lean back into the chair. He falls to his knees and fills his palms with lotion, then slathers it on me, starting with my feet. He focuses on my soles for a beat, then my ankles, calves, and eventually the rest of my legs. When he gets to my arms, he takes a moment to kiss the bruises on my wrists, all the while holding my gaze. A brief moment later, he maneuvers the chair to give him better access to my shoulders and back.
I slouch in my seat when he stops and turn toward him. Easton steps back over to my dresser and opens my sock drawer. Anticipating what he’s searching for, I whisper directions to him.
“Top right and middle left,” I say unenthusiastically.
Easton removes a clean nightgown and a fresh pair of undies. He dresses me, stopping only long enough to lotion my behind before pulling my panties on. Afterward, he uses the same towel to dry himself then puts his clothes back on.
“I’m going to make you something to eat.” His voice seems louder than usual.
I nod.
He disappears into the hall, and a moment later I hear the fridge open followed by my cabinets and a pot or pan clinking against the sink. He starts the water, and I drown out the noise, settling further in my seat with my head resting on the back of it.
My nerves are still all over the place, so I need a minute to gather myself. I breathe in deep, staring at the back of my eyelids. I don’t know how long I stay that way, but after a while, I hear Easton calling me from the kitchen.
I sigh and peel myself out of the chair. He’s standing next to the island, his hand still on the plate he’s setting down, but his attention seems to be fixed on my door. A frown paints my face, and my heart races with each step forward.
My dad is standing in my living room, his face still beat up, and I know why. I drop my gaze to Easton’s free hand, and it’s clutched tightly into a fist. For the first time, I notice how beat up his knuckles are, realizing that I didn’t recognize that last night. Is that where he was while he was busy ignoring me? In Virginia attacking my father?
“Sweetheart,” Barron says the moment he sees me. He looks me over, his eyes landing on my sore wrist.
He rushes to me and tries to pull me into his arms, but I step back. It’s involuntary, but the look he gives me says he gets it. It breaks his heart, I can see that in his gaze, but he understands. Just like Easton, he blames himself, and rightfully so.
“Baby girl, I am so sorry. I never meant to get you hurt,” he coos.
He looks at Easton who’s positioned himself as a shield from my dad. Barron glances around him at me, but I don’t say anything. I barely have words or energy for myself let alone the wherewithal to deal with apologies.
Words won’t fix this, and it should have never happened. I know my father, and based on what I know about Easton and his family and hearing what those men shared with me, he didn’t care what the consequences were. All that mattered was his work, name, and money.
“Can we talk—alone?” Dad pleads.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me,” Easton deadpans.
“This is all your fault,” Barron combats.
“Excuse me. You were stupid and reckless and nearly got your daughter killed. You’re lucky I don’t blow your fucking brains out right here,” Easton barks while stepping completely between my father and me.
“I need to talk to my child. You need to leave and stay the hell away from her.”
“Actually, you both need to leave.”
They turn to me, sadness written on their faces.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” Easton proclaims.
“Sweetie, you should come back with me, this man is dangerous.”
I chuckle, the reaction shocking us all. “And you’re not?”
Dad drops his chin to his chest, and a regretful sigh leaves his lungs.
“I was taken by men you hired. Easton’s never done that.”
“Arloe, he’s the reason I even contacted them. He’s been—”
I cut him short and square my shoulders. “Blackmailing you. I know.”
Easton snaps his attention to me, a blank stare on his face.
“So I was just a job to you? A means to get close to my father, which makes no sense, considering we’ve never even talked about my family.”
Easton tries to reach out to me, but I wave him off.
“Don’t touch me. I trusted you, but the whole time you were using me.”
He huffs. “I never used you, amore.”
“Stop. Don’t call me that. You went after my dad, blackmailed him, beat him. I want to know.”
“Ar—”
“Talk. For once in your life, be honest with me.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
His jaw tics, and it pisses me off. The audacity of him to be getting upset with me, when he started this whole thing.
“You sure as shit didn’t tell me anything. But what I don’t understand, Easton, is that you clearly got what you wanted. He signed your papers, right, so why come back and fuck me?”
My father grows irate at my words, but I don’t care. He caused my pain tonight, too, so he can be uncomfortable.
“We can talk about this later. You can leave.” Easton points to my dad then turns back to me. “You need to eat and rest. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know in the morning.”
“I’d rather you tell me now,” I insist while looking between the two of them.
Easton lets out another huff and scrubs his hand over his mouth. I can see this eating at him, but I need to know.
“There are things you don’t understand, amore. Things I’ve done that’ll change everything for us. But if you want to hear it, I’ll tell you everything.”
I fold my arms over my chest, waiting for either of them to start talking.
“Sweetheart. Just come back to Arlington with me. You’re not safe with this man. He’s a criminal.”
“You know, he’s not the one who put me in danger. That was you. On top of everything that tore us apart, you do this.”
“Arloe, I wasn’t thinking, and I never intended for them to come after you. I only wanted him—”
“Dead,” I finish my father’s statement. “Since when did you become a killer?”
“When he threatened you,” Dad says.
“That’s not—” Easton starts but turns to me instead. “I never threatened you.”
“Listen, darling, I know we haven’t seen eye to eye much since your mom died, but I love you, and I care about your safety.”
“You mean since I found out you were cheating while my mother fought for her life. Oh wait, I forgot, I never heard your side of the story,” I snip, my tone laced in sarcasm.
“You didn’t. You were angry, you still are, and I know this incident makes it worse, but, baby, I need you to trust me.”
I stand there for a moment, none of us saying anything, them visibly on edge by what I’ll say next. I think about the way I felt in that hotel room and remind myself that I only have one parent left. Everything in me wants to send him away because no matter what transpired before this day, he is the reason I was taken. But there is that part of me, the little girl who loves her father so much, and she’s calling out.