“He won’t press charges.” Vander gingerly lifts his T-shirt up. “He’d never do that.”
“We should at least take pictures,” I say. “That way, if he tries to do anything, we have evidence of your injuries.”
Vander nods as West helps him to fully remove his shirt. I suck in a horrified gasp at the sight of the bruising on one side of his chest and along his rib cage. “I’m going to get ice for those ribs,” West says. “They’re going to hurt like a bitch.” He should know. He’s suffered his fair share of bruised ribs over the years, thanks to football.
When we are alone, I crouch down and tenderly cup Vander’s face. “How much pain are you in, and don’t lie to me.”
“It’s about a five,” he says, softly poking his ribs and biting down on his lower lip. “I have suffered worse.”
“I hate that you have,” I whisper, battling a sudden rush of emotion.
“Kendall.” Vander grips my wrist. “I’m okay. Trust me when I say he’s hurting far worse than me.”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?” I have to ask. Not because I care about that piece of shit—because I care about Vander.
“West checked. He was still breathing. Just out cold.” He brings my wrist to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to my skin. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
“I’ve missed you too,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t have any time for you this week.”
“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, reluctantly letting my hand go. “Don’t apologize. I know this was a stressful week for you, and you had to prioritize your family. I could never resent you for that. I reminded myself hourly when the need to see you was almost too great.”
I stand and tilt his face up. “I’ll look after you now. You’re safe here, but you can’t stay for long.” The temptation will be too great.
“I know.” His tired eyes lock on mine.
“Your beautiful face,” I say, softly examining the bruising on his cheeks and jawline.
“It’ll heal.” He shrugs, like it’s no biggie, and I hate that it probably isn’t for him.
Before I patch him up, I take several pictures with my cell, ensuring I capture every mark, bruise, and cut. He spreads his thighs so I can step between them as I tend to his face first. West returns with ice packs, which Vander holds to his ribs as I clean his face and apply arnica cream to the bruises and antiseptic cream on his cut lip. Vander asks West to grab his gym bag and cell from his truck so he can call Jimmy.
“You might need an X-ray for those ribs,” I say, afraid to even touch them.
“Nah. They’re only bruised.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Dad cracked a couple of my ribs one time before. I know what it feels like.”
“I hate him,” I blurt. “Perhaps I should start putting poison in his coffee at work.”
Vander looks up at me with an amused grin. “You’d do that for me?”
“I would,” I reply without hesitation. “If I thought I could get away with it.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but he’s my problem to take care of.”
“Be careful,” I whisper. “Your future is on the line.”
“He’s going to try to take that from me,” he calmly replies. “But I’m not going to let him.”
“You should hear from Yale in early January. As long as you get an offer, he can’t take that from you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Vander replies. “He’s an alumnus, and he has contacts. He can pretty much do whatever he wants. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knows I didn’t submit an application for Yale Law.”
“The deadline for submissions isn’t until February. He doesn’t need to know you submitted an early application for the art program.”
Vander shrugs, and a grimace sweeps over his face. I frown. Any movement that shifts his ribs seems to hurt, and he needs to remain still. “He’ll be on alert after discovering my art studio today.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I check the coast is clear before I thread my fingers through his hair. “He will have seen the pictures of me.”
“I know.” Air expels from his mouth. “Why do you think I want you to stay away from him? The paintings and drawings prove nothing except I’m a little obsessed with you. He won’t read any more into it unless you start getting all up in his business, and then he’ll suspect it’s more than a one-sided crush. I don’t want him using you to get back at me.”
Greg will attempt to use me to hurt his son. Of that, I’m in no doubt. But fuck him. He can try, but he won’t succeed. I am done with assholes trying to push me around and underestimating me. I don’t know how I can rescue Vander’s future, but I’m damn well going to try. “I’ll stay out of his way,” I promise. “As much as I can when we work in the same law firm.”
“I’m glad Mom is in rehab and he can’t use her for a punching bag.”
He just used you instead. “Diana is in rehab?” I ask, and he nods. “That’s great, Vander. I hope she sticks it out and it helps.”
“Me too.”
We sink into silence because there is nothing more to be said. Taking one of the ice packs, I hold it to his swollen eye as we stare at one another, tension building in the small bathroom until it feels like it might explode. With my free hand, I stroke his arm, up and down, in what I hope is a comforting gesture. Vander’s hand moves to the back of my leg, and I lean a little closer, careful not to press against his sore ribs.
We pull apart when we hear footsteps approaching. Stella confirms the guest room is ready, and we help Vander upstairs, getting him settled into the bed. Vander phones Jimmy while I go to the kitchen to grab some water and pain pills and to heat up a plate of lasagna because I’m pretty sure he hasn’t eaten.
“Jimmy, Crusher, and a couple of the other guys are en route to the carriage house to box up my stuff and salvage whatever is left of my studio,” he says when I walk in carrying a tray table. “They know to bubble wrap the shit out of the paintings. I’ll call the local storage facility in the morning and rent one of their units.”
“There is no rush. We have empty space in the garage now Curtis is gone, taking his car and his tools with him.” I unfold the tray legs and position it over Vander’s lap.
“How are you holding up?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“I’m fine. Just worried about the kids.” I’m going through a whole host of emotions, but I’m not sorry Curtis is gone. I’m relieved he’s out of my hair. His parents are devastated and disappointed in their son, but they were quick to offer me their support, which means a lot. My friends have been rallying around me too, and though I’m struggling to sleep and eat, and concerned about the future, I know this is just a transitionary phase. My life has altered almost overnight, and I need to rethink everything I thought I had mapped out for the future. Uncertainty is unsettling, but I know I’ll be fine in time.
“West is taking it hard,” Vander admits, confirming something I already know.