Chapter 7 #2
I turned just in time to see him fill the doorway—broad shoulders heaving, his dark hair damp with sweat, his eyes glowing faintly green as they locked onto us.
His chest rose and fell like he’d run the whole way home, and for a wild second, I thought something had happened—that he was bringing word his friends had found Anthony after all.
But then Dakvaar’s shoulders sagged, just slightly, and the tension in his face eased, and I realized he’d been worried for us.
This morning, he’d said that he didn’t want to be apart from us. Dios, his protective streak was strong, wasn’t it?
I found myself smiling, not even caring if it pulled my bruises.
Rosa launched herself at him, and he caught her effortlessly, lifting her into his arms as she chattered a mile a minute.
“Dak! Look what you sent us! My dragon’s name is—” She lowered her voice comically in a passable imitation of Dakvaar’s— “Stormbringer, and I love my sparkly hair ties, and Mama got new pajamas with moons on them, and the books—oh! The books are so good!” She wriggled in his grip, pointing at the dragon still sprawled on the floor. “Bebkar is reading!”
His lips twitched, just barely, but his eyes—those glowing green eyes—never left mine. “Veth’kar,” he corrected softly.
She giggled. “That’s what I said!”
He finally looked down at her, and the way his expression softened made my chest ache. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Like them? I love them!” She squirmed until he set her down, then grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the couch. “Come see! Mama read me three books already, but I want you to read the next one!”
I watched him follow her, his movements stiff, like he was trying to hold himself back. His gear bag thudded to the floor, and I noticed the way his practice jersey clung to his chest, damp with sweat. He hadn’t even showered. He’d come straight here.
For us.
The realization sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with the pain meds.
Rosa plopped onto the couch, patting the spot beside her. “Sit! Please?”
Dakvaar hesitated, then sank down beside her, his massive frame making the cushion dip. He smelled like sweat and metal, like the sharp, clean scent of a winter storm.
I found myself breathing it in, my pulse fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Rosa thrust a book into his hands—a picture book about a girl who tamed dragons—and he opened it carefully, his claws tapping against the pages as he began to read.
His voice was low, rumbling, and Rosa leaned against his side, her dark head tucked under his arm like she belonged there, like the sweating didn’t matter.
I should’ve been used to it by now. The way she trusted him. The way he let her.
But seeing it now, after everything he’d done—after the gifts, after the way he’d looked at me when he walked in—it made my throat tight.
I busied myself in the kitchen, pulling out the groceries he’d left by the door. Potatoes, steak, fresh vegetables. Things that cost more than I could justify spending on myself.
Things he’d bought for us.
My hands trembled as I unpacked them, my mind racing. How was I supposed to repay this? How was I supposed to—
“Mama!”
I turned to see Rosa bouncing toward me, her pigtails swinging. “Dak says we can make dinner together! Can we? Please?”
I forced a smile. “Of course, mija.”
She grabbed my hand, dragging me back into the living room. Dakvaar was already standing, and when he pulled off his practice jersey to reveal the shirt underneath—which outlined the muscles of his stomach—my throat went a little dry.
“I’m going to go shower,” he announced. “Then we can grill the steak.”
“Sounds great,” I managed, trying not to be obvious about the way I watched his butt as he turned around.
Later, he met us in the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a pair of deliciously corded forearms. “Who’s ready to help peel veggies?”
“I don’t like bejtables, but I’m good at chopping!” Rosa declared seriously, climbing up to the stool by the counter. As we worked, she asked a million questions about Dakvaar’s job.
“How fast do you skate?”
“Sometimes as fast as a car.”
“Do you ever fall?”
“All the time.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes. But the ice is cold, so it numbs it.”
She gasped. “Like when I lick the freezer?”
He chuckled, a deep, warm sound. “You lick the freezer? I mean, I guess so.”
“You know what, Dak? I can run even faster than a car. Will you teach me to skate?”
“Sure.” He agreed so casually, like it was nothing. “The pond out back is safe to skate on, as long as we stick to the edges. I’ll pick up some skates in your size from the rink.”
Rosa immediately launched into a monologue about how she would be the fastest girl ever, and Dakvaar hummed or offered suggestions as needed as he cooked.
I watched them, my chest tight. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about his team. The way Rosa hung on every word. The way he listened to her, like her questions actually mattered.
Like she mattered.
If Anthony had his way, my baby would grow up thinking her thoughts were incorrect and her opinions didn’t matter.
She’d grow up believing a man needed to tell her how to think, and then sell her to one who would, just as my stepfather had done.
But Dakvaar thought she was perfect just the way she was.
I chopped potatoes, my knife moving automatically as my mind spun.
He’d done too much. Too much, and I couldn’t—
“Sofia.”
I jumped, nearly slicing my finger. Dakvaar’s hand closed over mine, stilling the knife. His touch was warm, calloused, careful.
“You’re hurt,” he murmured.
I blinked down at my wrist, the one Anthony had kicked. It ached, but not as badly as before. “I’m fine.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not.”
I exhaled, pulling my hand back gently. “Okay, but I’m better.”
He didn’t smile at my teasing tone, but I saw the slight roll of his eyes as he turned back to the stove.
The pair of us cooked in silence after that, the only sounds were Rosa’s excited chatter and the sizzle of the steak. When we sat down to eat, she insisted on sitting between us, her small body a warm bridge.
Dakvaar cut her steak into tiny pieces, making sure there was no fat, no gristle. He passed me the potatoes first, his fingers brushing mine. I ignored the way my skin tingled.
Rosa talked about her day, about the snowman she’d built in the yard, about the way Veth’kar the dragon plush had “guarded” her while she napped.
Dakvaar listened. He always listened, nodding where appropriate.
And I watched.
The way his tusks glinted in the light when he smiled at something she said. The way his shoulders relaxed when she laughed. The way his hand flexed, like he wanted to reach for me but wouldn’t let himself.
I wanted to know what he was thinking.
I wanted to know everything about him, and I told myself it was just to find a way to repay him.
After dinner, I tucked Rosa into the guest bed, her dark curls fanned out on the pillow, her new dragon clutched in her arms.
“Goodnight, mija,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Night, Mama,” she mumbled, already half-asleep. “Dak’s story tomorrow?”
I smiled. “If he’s up for it.”