Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Yasmine leaves with Liam, and I know I should talk to Esme, but that conversation will have to wait. I yank my engagement ring off and toss it into a drawer before rushing out the door. The traffic on the freeway is a nightmare, just like Esme said, but I finally make it to Victor’s loft. After finding a parking spot, I jump out of the car, not even caring that I’m crooked in the space. My heart pounds as I race to his apartment, praying that he’s home. I bang on the door with my fist, then hit the doorbell over and over until the door swings open.
It’s not Victor standing there but Fatima, his sister-in-law. “Hey,” she says, giving me a warm smile tinged with sympathy. “Come on in.”
I step inside, my eyes darting around the room. “Is Victor here?”
Fatima shakes her head. “He’s not back yet. Q went to look for him.”
My stomach twists into knots, praying that Quentin finds Victor before Victor finds Ian. “Do you think Quentin found Victor?”
She hesitates. “Probably. I mean, he has the resources.”
Of course he does. He’s rich, and his family has some serious connections. That should be comforting right now, but it’s not. Maybe Victor used those same resources to find Ian. I sink onto the couch, my head in my hands, my mind racing. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic and can’t get to him. “This is all my fault.”
Fatima sits beside me. Her long locks hang down her back, nearly reaching her waist, as she leans in closer. “Victor is a grown man who made his own choice. It’s going to be okay.”
I meet her gaze, moisture pooling in my eyes. “But what if it’s not? What if something happens to him because of me?”
Her hand finds my back, tracing circles. I lean in, craving the comfort I didn't know I needed. “Victor’s tough. He’ll be all right. And Q will make sure of it.” Her phone goes off in her purse, and she pulls it out to read the screen. “It’s Q.” Standing up, she answers the phone. “Hey, baby.”
I sit on the edge of my seat, my eyes fixed on her, trying to read her expressions. Other than her telling Quentin that I’m here, she isn’t giving me much, just the occasional “uh-huh” or “okay.” But every now and then, her eyes meet mine, and I can sense that something’s not right.
“Okay,” she finally says, her voice heavy. “I’ll let her know.”
Fatima sets down the phone and turns to me, her brow furrowed slightly and the corners of her mouth tightening. But as her gaze meets mine, her eyes soften, and a small, comforting smile tugs at her lips. “It’s going to be fine. Really.”
I shoot up from my seat on the couch. “What is it?”
“Victor found Ian at his condo, and…he beat Ian’s ass.”
My legs give out beneath me, and I collapse back onto the couch, gripping the side of my head as I try to process the information. “Where is Victor now?”
“He was arrested.”
I gasp, the reality hitting me hard. “Fuck.” My mind spins with the possibilities of what this could mean for Victor.
“Q says he’s looking at aggravated assault. They say he banged Ian up pretty bad, but he’ll live.”
I can’t sit still any longer. Jumping up, I blurt, “I have to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the police station.”
She follows me to the door, her voice gentle but firm. “Why don’t you wait here for him? There isn’t much you can do. Q’s a lawyer. He’ll handle it. And I think it’ll be good for them as brothers to have this moment.”
I get what she’s trying to say with how fragile their relationship has been in the past. Fatima puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, steadying me. Reluctantly, I nod, letting her guide me back to the couch.
What happens now? Will Ian press charges? Victor could be facing serious consequences. And then there’s Ian’s family. What will they think of all this? Will they blame me? I doubt Ian will admit to hitting me, knowing his family would tear him apart for it. Maybe he’ll keep quiet to protect his reputation.
Fatima’s voice cuts through the chaos in my head. “Like my aunt Helena says, and this too shall pass.”
“You’re right.” I give a small smile, grateful for her presence.
We sit in silence for a while before she speaks up. “I know the timing is terrible, but I have a huge favor to ask you.”
Surprised, I turn to her. “Sure, what do you need?”
She holds up a small paper bag. “I’m supposed to take my IVF shot today. Q usually helps me, but with everything going on…” Her voice trails off, and I see the hope and worry in her eyes.
It clicks for me, and I give her a reassuring smile. “You need someone to give you the shot.”
Relief spreads across her face, and she nods. “If it’s not too much to ask.”
I give her hand a squeeze, my own problems temporarily forgotten. “It’s no problem at all. I’m happy to help.”
Fatima visibly relaxes. “Thank you, girl. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
As I help her with the shot, my own worries fade into the background for a moment. It feels good to focus on someone else, to be there for them when they need it.
It’s been two hours since Fatima left and still no Victor. Keeping myself busy to avoid worrying myself sick, I’ve been flipping through tattoo magazines strewn about. The front door opens, and in walks Quentin, looking tired but put together in his crisp suit, not a blond hair out of place. Right behind him…
“Victor.” Moving before I even realize it, I throw myself into his arms, relief washing over me. “Are you okay?” My voice comes out muffled against his firm chest, my hands gripping his shirt tightly.
Wrapping his arms around me, he holds me close. “I’m fine.”
Pulling back just enough to look him over, I notice his knuckles are a mess of dark purple and blue bruises, the skin swollen and split in a few places. “Does it hurt? We need to get you some ice.” Worry laces my voice as my fingers gently trace the bruises.
Quentin clears his throat, prompting Victor and me to reluctantly step apart.
“I’m sorry,” I say, remembering my manners. “Hi.”
A smile, reminiscent of his father’s but not quite as bright, spreads across Quentin’s face. His hazel eyes, tired but kind, peer at me. “Skylar, right?”
“That’s me.” The one who accidentally started this whole mess by telling Victor what Ian did. Fatima’s words echo in my mind, reminding me that Victor is a grown man who made his own choice to confront Ian. Now that the initial panic has died down and I’ve heard from one of Ian’s sisters that he was attacked by some “crazy person” but won’t press charges, I can finally breathe a little easier.
“Thanks, man,” Victor says to Quentin. “For everything.”
Quentin nods, his gaze moving between us. “No problem. Just stay out of trouble from now on, okay?”
“He will,” I promise, sliding my arms around Victor’s waist.
Shaking his head, Quentin sighs, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Answer your phone tomorrow when I call.”
Victor nods. “I will.”
“Time for me to get home to my wife,” Quentin says, his voice softening at mentioning Fatima. Giving us one last look, a mix of understanding and warning, he says goodbye, leaving us alone in the quiet loft.
As soon as the door closes, I’m back in Victor’s arms, breathing him in deep, reassuring myself that he’s okay. “I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let him get away with hurting you.” Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he stares down at me, his gaze full of love and fierce protectiveness. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Warmth spreads through me as I pull him close and kiss him, trying to pour every ounce of relief and adoration into the press of my mouth on his. As I cup his face with my hands, I notice a slight bruise blooming on his left cheek, the unmistakable mark of a fist. “Come on,” I say, taking his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
We head upstairs to the bathroom, and I grab the first aid kit. As I clean his cuts and bandage his knuckles, I can’t help but wince every time he flinches, hating that he’s in pain because of me. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion.
“It’s not your fault,” he says softly, catching my hand in his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my skin. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you safe.”
Tears spill down my cheeks at his words. “I don’t deserve you,” I whisper, my voice hitching.
He cups my face in his hands, his gaze intense as his eyes bore into mine. “You deserve everything, Skylar. Everything. You hear me?”
I nod, taking in a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the emotion in his voice and the certainty in his eyes. “Yes, I hear you.”
Once I’m finished patching him up, I turn on the shower. We undress each other, savoring every brush of skin on skin, every touch a reassurance that we’re together, that we’re okay. This isn’t some quick hookup or a dirty little secret. It’s a moment of love and connection, of finally being free to be together. Sure, our being together will catch some people off guard and upset others, but it’s all worth it in the end.
The last of our clothes hit the floor, and he pulls me in for a kiss, sliding his hands up my face, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Stay the night?” he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot on my skin.
“Most definitely.” I take his hand, the one that’s not quite as beat up, and tug him into the shower with me. The steamy water pours over us, making our hair stick to our heads as we stand there, face-to-face, lost in each other’s eyes. I grab his body wash and pour some into a washcloth, breathing in the scent that’s him, the scent that means home and love and safety.
I run the washcloth over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle, marveling at his strength—his beauty. I work my way up to his shoulders, digging into all the tight spots, trying to rub away the tension, the stress, and the soreness. Then I step behind him, letting the washcloth fall from my hands and pressing my palms against his back, kneading the firm muscles there, pouring all my love and gratitude into my touch.
As I massage his back and neck, I feel him start to relax, the day’s stress melting away under the warm water and my touch. He lets his head fall forward, a low hum of pleasure escaping his lips. “That feels amazing, baby,” he murmurs, his voice tired but content.
As I work the last of the tension from his muscles, I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his inked shoulder blade. “Thank you, again, for having my back.”
“I’ll always have your back. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Warmth radiates through my chest, and I slide my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his back. “Me either. I’m in this.”
He covers my hands with his. “ We’re in this.” His words are a promise, and I know that no matter what comes our way, we’ll face it together. Always.