Chapter 22Her Last Touch – Vic
Chapter 22
Her Last Touch – Vic
W hen I step through the front door with Kerry still cradled in my arms, the first thing I hear is laughter—loud, warm, and filling the space more than usual.
Mom’s voice is at the center of it all.
“The lovebirds are back!” she calls from the other room, her voice drawing nearer.
“We have a full house tonight! I’m sure you two have a funny story to—”
She stops dead in her tracks the second she turns the corner.
Her eyes land on Kerry’s limp body in my arms, asleep but hurt.
The room stills.
Laughter dies.
And all that’s left is suffocating silence.
Mom’s gaze roams over the bruises blooming across Kerry’s face, the busted lip, the tension still coiled in my body, barely held together by restraint.
“Vic.” She gasps.
“What happened?!”
Grace’s body locks up, her hands trembling at her sides.
“My baby girl. Not again.”
Serena, Kiera, Izzy, and their husbands all react at once, stiffening and exchanging furious looks while Hudson is speechless.
Mom’s voice sharpens.
“Who did this to her?”
Without hesitation, without a second thought, Kerry’s friends, the women who know her pain, who know her story, speak as one.
“Cory.”
Mom exhales.
Then, a barely audible mumble slips past her lips.
“I just knew it when I ran that background check. Something wasn’t right. ”
My entire body tenses.
“You knew he hurt her and didn’t tell me?” My blood boils, the rage clawing its way back to the surface.
She places a steady hand on my arm, her voice calm but firm.
“I only had a feeling, Son. No proof. Nothing solid enough to bring to you.”
Mr.
Kind doesn’t ask questions.
He just pulls out his phone and starts dialing.
“Maxine,” he says into the receiver, his voice sharp, commanding.
“I need you to pull the security footage from tonight. Every single camera angle. I need statements from your staff, from every witness. And I need you to back my daughter up when the police try to dismiss this as just another dispute.”
“I’m already workin’ on it, James,” Maxine assures him without hesitation.
“I ain’t scared of the Martins. Never have been. Never will be. He won’t get away with it this time.”
Mr.
Kind exhales, then glances at his wife.
“Grace, call the police department. File a report. And make sure they know they won’t be sweeping this under the rug.”
She nods, already dialing.
I motion for the women to follow me as I carry Kerry into her room, laying her down gently on the bed.
They gather around her, whispering soft reassurances and watching over her like guardians.
The men stay back, waiting in the great room.
They know things I don’t.
They’ve seen more than I have.
When I sit down, they talk, and Mom, Hudson, and I listen.
“We had no idea. Not at first. Not until just a few years ago. No one knew. Kerry, she—” Hawkins lets out a long breath.
His voice is low and filled with regret.
“She always smiled. And when she was bruised, she’d either cover it up or stay home. Say she was sick. We wanted to believe her. We wanted to believe she was okay.” Gabe exhales, shaking his head.
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
“What made her finally leave?”
“That’s the real question, man.” Gabe looks up at me.
“That last night she was with him? Something happened. Something so bad she left and never looked back. But it was also bad enough that it destroyed her career, and Cory still holds that shit over her head.”
Mr.
Kind clenches his jaw .
“I found out too late back then. But I promise I’m gonna do something now. The last time I confronted the Martins, I ended up in jail. But I don’t give a damn what they try to do to me. I’d go to hell if I have to. I’ll do anything to protect my daughter.”
Hudson shakes his head in disbelief.
“Are they really that powerful?”
A long silence falls upon us.
Then the women return.
We sit together and devise a plan to take Cory down.
Serena nods.
“Well, they are the police department, and they have connections in high places, which is why we need Gabe and Hawkins to hack into police records.”
“You want us to do what?” Hawkins blinks, shaking his head.
“We can’t do that kind of stuff anymore. We have government contracts now.”
Izzy folds her arms, unimpressed.
“Y’all own the biggest cyber-security company in the country, Gabe. Screw turning over a new leaf. We need to turn over the whole damn tree to get justice for our girl.”
The men exchange a look.
Then, Gabe exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw before finally nodding.
“We’ll do what we can. We’ll try to find the buried reports—everything they erased.”
“And I’ll work with Governor Carter and Judge Boom to see if they can use their influence to open an internal investigation into the police department. They can be trusted, and from my understanding, there are a whole lot of people who have been done wrong since this town merger. They’ll be keen to take Cory and his family down.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, feeling like I need to fix everything with my own hands.
Serena softens, shaking her head.
“Just take care of her, Vic. Be the strength she needs while hers builds back up.”
I nod, taking in her words.
The Kinds stay behind while the rest of the group gradually disperses, each person determined to play their part in taking Cory down.
But my part starts now.
I head to my library, flipping through one ethnobotanical book after another.
The crisp night air cools the fire still simmering beneath my skin as I step into my garden, gathering arnica leaves for her bruises, comfrey for her muscles, and calendula to soothe her skin.
Then, I head to the kitchen and begin making my ointments, pouring my frustration into the careful preparation of every remedy.
Hours pass.
Kerry’s parents have settled into the guest room, the house is still, and when I check the clock, 2 a.
m.
stares back at me.
Exhaustion claws at the edges of my consciousness, but before I can think about resting, a soft, strained voice cuts through the quiet.
“Vic.”
I move toward her room, careful not to wake the girls.
When I step inside, Kerry is frowning, shifting in discomfort, her hand instinctively reaching for her back.
“Hey, you might be a little sore,” I warn.
She groans, eyes fluttering open.
“I’m more than sore, Vic. I’m dirty. I can’t believe you let me lay in this bed after being on that disgusting bathroom floor.”
This woman .
“You do kind of smell.” I huff out a quiet laugh.
She gasps playfully but only to wince in pain.
“See?” I shake my head.
“I told you to take it easy. Let me take care of you.”
For once, she doesn’t argue.
She just nods.
I step into the bathroom, filling the tub with warm water before adding mugwort and white willow bark.
The steam curls into the air, laced with the scent of healing.
When I return to her side, I help her sit up slowly, guiding her to the bathroom.
She curls her fingers around my arm for support, her body leaning into mine as she trusts me to lead her forward.
When we reach the tub, she slips out of her robe and into the water.
I pause at the edge of the clawfoot tub, watching as she tilts her head back, eyes closed, her body finally relaxing.
“May I bathe you?”
Her breath slows.
Her eyes flutter.
And then, she nods.
Rolling up my sleeves, I dip a cloth into the herbal water.
The moment the warm fabric glides across her skin, she exhales, the tension melting from her shoulders, from her face, from her body .
I brush soft, careful strokes down her back, over her arms, along her legs.
Her breathing evens.
Her mind settles.
And for the first time in hours, a smile plays on her lips.
But when I pause, she opens her eyes, catching me staring at her wrist.
The bruises are dark, raw, and staining her skin.
She tries to brush it off.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Vic. I bruise easily.”
I don’t respond right away.
Instead, I slowly run my thumb over the discoloration.
“But you shouldn’t have to bruise at all.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing slow, reverent kisses along her palm, her fingers, and the inside of her wrist.
A single tear slips down her cheek, but I catch it with my thumb and proceed to worship her.
After her bath, I wrap her in a heavy robe and guide her back to bed.
She doesn’t resist as I kneel beside her, warming the ointment between my hands before smoothing it gently over her bare skin.
She exhales, the knots of tension in her muscles unwinding under my touch.
When I finally lie beside her, she turns, nestling against my chest.
And just before sleep claims her, she whispers, “Thank you.”
I tighten my arms around her, press a lingering kiss to her hair, and silently thank her for trusting me and for letting me be the last touch her body tonight.
And if she’ll let me, I’ll make sure every touch she ever experiences from now on is one of comfort, safety, respect, passion, and love.
~~~
It’s been a month since Kerry’s past was revealed.
She told me everything about the night she left.
She trusts me with the only secret she has.
And since then, something has shifted.
We’ve shifted.
It’s subtle, but noticeable.
The walls between us are gone.
Our conversations are deeper, more honest, more vulnerable.
We’re not dancing around each other the way we used to.
There’s no pretense, no facade.
She’s still stubborn, and hell, and I’m as hardheaded as they come, but we’ve settled into this quiet space where we accept each other exactly as we are.
And Kerry…
she’s softer somehow.
Not weak.
Never that.
But lighter.
Like she’s no longer bracing herself for a fight she doesn’t need to have.
Like she’s starting to be lieve that happiness isn’t something she has to earn.
That peace doesn’t always come with a cost.
I know Kerry isn’t ready for a real relationship.
I don’t even think she wants one, so I’ll continue to keep my growing feelings for her at bay.
But if keeping up this charade is the only way to keep her in my life, then I’ll do it.
Because this, whatever this is, feels real, and I’d be a fool to ever let this go.