Chapter Forty
Zeppelin
Hearing Misty’s screams broke me. And when I saw Butch on top of her like that, her fighting as he got sick pleasure out of it, I could have killed him.
I almost did.
If Pacino hadn’t shouted that Misty asked for me, I was two seconds away from breaking his fucking neck. And I wish I had. There’s no excuse for this.
And he fucking ruined my attempt to show her how I feel. God, he needs to just die.
I lead her into my bathroom, and she gasps when she gets a look at herself in the mirror. “Wow, I’d scare children.”
Her hair is dirty and messy, and her face is swollen, cut, and red. Her knees are scraped up, and her dress is torn and dirty. It kills me to see her like this. She doesn’t deserve it.
“This will sting a bit, but I want to clean out the scrapes,” I say, guiding her to sit on the toilet. “Once we’ve cleaned it up a bit, I’m going to get you into a bath, and then we’ll feed you.”
“I can do this—”
“Stop fighting me. I’m taking care of you tonight, Misty. It feels like my fault, so please, don’t fight me on it.”
It’s the truth. The guilt eats me up, and I wouldn’t blame her if she never wants to speak to me again after tonight. She might not be in this situation if it wasn’t for me, and I hate that she got caught in the crossfire of my fucking father’s disdain for others.
She hisses as the wet gauze touches the scrape on her cheek, and I grimace. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing compared to childbirth,” she jokes.
I snort and secretly wish I could experience it with her. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my future, and all I see is her and Bernie. And another little one. Maybe two.
Her eyes follow me as I focus on treating her wounds, and she doesn’t say anything. I wish she’d tell me what she’s thinking. Does she blame me like I blame myself? Does she hate me? Does she never want to see me again? And what does this mean for Bernie?
“I think that should do it,” I say after looking her over and cleaning every open wound I can find.
“Thank you.”
I force a smile. “Here, I’ll run a bath, and we’ll get you soaking. While the tub fills up, I’ll get a pizza in the oven, and then I’ll come back and help wash your hair.”
“I can—”
“Please?”
Misty nods and winces, and I can already see the bruises forming. The ones along her jaw have me clenching mine, but I ignore it. I turn on the water and look around.
“I don’t have any bubble bath like you did. Should I use soap as a substitute?”
“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without bubbles. Might actually sting if we have them.”
“Good point. I’ll be right back.”
I leave her to undress and climb into the water while I preheat the oven. It takes forever, and I pace in the kitchen. She’s in my house. She’s naked in my bathtub, but I just want to hold her. Feel her in my arms and know she’s safe.
As soon as the oven dings, I put the pizza on the rack and take the stairs two at a time. Misty lays in the water, her eyes closed, and she looks almost peaceful.
“Let’s wash your hair,” I say, smiling slightly as I remember her doing just that when she took care of me.
My tub isn’t nearly as big as hers, so I don’t climb in with her. But I do massage her scalp like she did for me. She winces when I reach the back of her head, and I part her hair to find a small scrape.
“I hit my head on the building when he slapped me,” Misty says.
“Slapped you?”
Her eyes won’t meet mine. “I refused to open my mouth, so he slapped me hard enough to bonk my head on the wall.”
I have to close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. All I want to do right now is run out of here, hop on my bike, and give Butch a taste of his own medicine. Make him understand the pain he causes by giving it right back to him.
“I’m so sorry, Misty,” I whisper.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Her wet hand wraps around my wrist. “You didn’t pick your father.”
“No, I did not.”
We finish the bath just as the timer goes off. I wrap her up in a towel and dry her off as it buzzes for a third time.
“Go. I can manage this,” Misty says.
“You can wear anything you want. I’ll be right back with the pizza.”
I run downstairs and cut the pizza as quickly as possible. It’s hot as hell, and I put it on plates before grabbing two sodas and a bag of peas from the freezer. She’s going to need to ice her face.
When I return to my bedroom, she’s pulled a sweatshirt over her body, and she looks beautiful. Long, thin legs underneath my oversized sweatshirt that falls mid-thigh with long, wet strands of brown hair making the shoulders damp.
“Food.”
She turns and smiles. “And… peas?”
“For your face. After we eat.”
“Good thinking. Do you want to eat downstairs?”
“Bed’s fine,” I say.
We climb on, careful not to knock the pizza onto the sheets, and I hand her a plate. She sits cross-legged, and I turn on the TV.
“When’d you get a TV in here?” she asks, taking a bite.
“It’s always been in here.”
She snorts. “Guess I was too focused on other things to notice.”
Our week together. Incredible sex. Wrapped up in each other while forgetting the outside world existed. It was one of the happiest times of my life.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she says, setting her plate down. “He wanted to hurt me to hurt you. That’s not on you, Zep.”
“If you’d never gotten involved with me—”
“He might’ve still hurt me for the fun of it. It doesn’t seem like he really needs much of a reason to do anything he wants,” she says.
Her eyes stare at the pizza, and I take a chance. Reaching out, I take her hand, and she doesn’t pull it away. “It’s not your fault, either. You didn’t ask for it no matter what Wylie said.”
“Hey, Zep?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you threaten Sierra’s father?”
I run my freehand down my face. “Who, uh, said that?”
“He told Janet’s husband, and she told me.”
Fuck. “Okay, uh, yes, but… I have no good excuse. Except for the fact that I don’t want Bernie terrorized in school. Plus, his kid’s a bitch, and kicking her dad’s ass would be very therapeutic.”
“You really need to stop solving every problem with violence,” she says but smiles.
“It’s the only thing I could come up with to get him to stop his daughter. It’s kind of my default method.”
Her lip quivers, and she covers her eyes with her free hand while squeezing mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying now.”
“Because you’ve been through hell tonight? You don’t need a reason.”
“I don’t like breaking down. And I hate doing it in front of people. Not even Bernie sees me cry unless it’s like the afternoon Ben showed up.”
I swallow and lock my eyes on our hands. “She hears you.”
“What?”
“She told me we couldn’t be friends again because I made her mom cry. She heard you when you thought she was sleeping.”
“Oh God. I’m just failing all over the place, aren’t I?”
Rubbing my thumb along her knuckles, I fight my own tears.
“I’m sorry I did that to you, Misty. Knowing I made you cry, and knowing how I made Bernie feel kills me.
But that kiss was nothing more than goodbye.
And I thought I owed it to her after our history, but I should’ve known she had something up her sleeve. I’d take it back if I could.”
“I don’t want to talk about Chanel tonight. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Not hungry anymore?”
“My jaw hurts,” she admits. “He really dug his grimy fingers into the joints.”
“I can make you a smoothie or—”
“I just want to rest. Can we rest?”
We? “Of course.”
I set the plates on the dresser next to the drinks and hand her the bag of peas. Climbing back into the bed, I wait for her to decide what she wants to do, and I’m rewarded with her curling up against my side, the bag of vegetables on her face.
“Want me to turn on the TV?”
“Turn on something bad,” she says and chuckles. “Reality TV makes me happy. I feel a lot better about my life when I watch it.”
Opening up the guide, I look through until I find some Housewives show. I’d never watched it before, but Misty relaxes against me, and I’ll watch every episode ever made if it makes her happy.
It doesn’t take long until she falls asleep, and I turn off the TV and lights. I just watch her in the moonlight as she sleeps, thanking the universe she’s okay. That I heard her in time and stopped it before it was too far to come back from.
“I love you,” I whisper and kiss the top of her head.
One of these days, I’m going to say the words to her when she can hear me. One day soon, I hope.