4. Maliah #4
Her voice cracked slightly.
“And now you’re telling me my father did this?”
I looked down at the floor for a moment because I didn’t admit to a damn thing yet, but I didn’t deny her theory either.
The problem was she had too many questions, and I knew the answers to all of them but none that would make this easier.
When I looked back up, she was still staring at me.
I could see in her eyes that she was searching my face for something, for anything.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
That question settled between us. And honestly, that felt like the hardest question she had asked me so far.
Because I knew what she was really asking.
That one little question had a million little questions lined up behind it.
Why did her father shoot me? Why did he tell her to stay away from me?
Why did everything change in a single day?
There were too many damn questions. I rubbed my hand across my jaw and looked away.
“Maliah… that’s between him and me.”
The disappointment that crossed her face hit me harder than the bullet I had taken because I knew she wanted more. If I’m being honest, she deserves more. But the truth wasn’t mine to give without changing everything. And once that truth came out… there wasn’t going to be any putting it back.
For a long moment, neither one of us said anything. I watched Maliah stare at me from the other side of the island, and for the first time since she got here, she looked completely lost. Like she was trying to force two versions of the same person to fit together and couldn’t make them line up.
“My father…”
Her voice trailed off. She looked away from me and shook her head slightly.
“No.”
The word came out almost like she was talking to herself.
“He wouldn’t…”
But she didn’t finish the sentence. Because even she didn’t know how it ended. Wouldn’t what? Shoot somebody? Be violent? Do something that she didn’t understand?
The problem was that whatever version of Malik Browne existed outside of being her father wasn’t something she had ever really been forced to look at before.
Not like this. Not when the consequences were standing right in front of her.
Her eyes found my arm again. The bandage with the blood showing through was proof.
And just like that, I watched it hit her.
For real this time. The tears filled her eyes so fast it caught me off guard. I was watching my baby break down in the worst way.
“Maliah.”
She immediately turned away. Like she didn’t want me to see it.
That only made it worse. A second later, a tear slipped down her cheek, then another.
I felt something in my chest tighten because this moment wasn’t about me, not really anyway.
This was about her trying to figure out how the man she loved most in this world fit into the picture standing in front of her.
And right now… he didn’t. She was sobbing so uncontrollably that it was hard to watch.
“Maliah.”
“I don’t understand,” her words trembled slightly.
The words came out broken.
“I don’t understand,” she managed to get out again through tears.
I pushed away from the counter slowly. I moved cautiously to be careful of my arm. She didn’t look up when I walked around the island. I didn’t move when I stopped in front of her. And I didn’t say anything when I reached for her. I gently caught her chin and lifted her face toward mine.
The second our eyes met, another tear rolled down her cheek. Damn. That hurt to see.
My thumb brushed beneath her eye, wiping the tear away. Then I wiped away another one, and another.
“Mali.”
Her lips pressed together as she tried to get herself under control. It wasn’t working.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered again.
“I know,” I nodded slowly.
Because I did. More than she realized. I knew exactly what it felt like when somebody you loved turned into somebody you didn’t recognize.
I knew what it felt like when reality didn’t match the version of a person you carried in your head.
The difference was that I had years to make peace with all the shit that happened with my mom.
She was being forced to face her family demon tonight.
My hand settled against the side of her face.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes lifted. And when they did, they looked red.
Her long lashes were wet, and I could see in those brown eyes that she was heartbroken.
And for a second, I hated her father all over again for putting that look on her face.
Not because he shot me, but because he put her in the middle.
I brushed one final tear from her cheek before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against her forehead.
A slow one. The kind that wasn’t about romance.
It was filled with comfort and reassurance.
It was just me trying to hold together the pieces of her world that had started cracking tonight.
When I pulled back, her eyes closed briefly, and she let herself lean into me.