Chapter Fifteen
Runa
“Look at you,” I said with a laugh. “You look like you’re leaving for a whole week, not a few hours.”
Denny had on a backpack that was nearly bursting at the seams with stuffed animals and the little plastic purse York bought her at the aquarium.
The top was barely able to close with how many animal figurines she had inside.
She was wearing one of her favorite princess dresses, and the vision of her walking around in that with the big, intimidating-looking York made me smile.
“Daddy said I could bring toys.” She lifted her chin, ready to argue.
“Of course you can.” I wanted her to bring whatever she wanted to feel comfortable being away from me for a good chunk of the day.
It wasn’t like it was the first time I’d ever left her, and I knew I could trust York, but my anxious mama’s heart was worried that she might miss me or want to come home.
I technically only needed two hours to go do a cleaning job, but York was going to have Denny for eight or so hours.
I honestly didn’t know what the hell to do with myself for six hours without my daughter to talk to or tag along on errands.
But I guess it was good for me to dip my toe in the experience.
If all went to plan, not long from now, Denny would be in school for six hours a day.
And then after school some days, she might be scooped up by her father, leaving me alone for most of the day.
I guess the plan should be to figure out a career that would keep me occupied.
It was a normal thing for most people to have thought about by my age.
But my early life living out of tents and in national parks meant I picked up odd jobs.
Then with a baby and a child on the run constantly, a nine-to-five was never an option. So I never even thought about one.
Given what I loved most in my past, I figured something outdoors would be ideal.
A garden center, lawn care, maybe a park ranger—if they had that sort of thing around here.
Or, if such a job existed, maybe working for some organization that helped women and children in high-risk situations or in shelters.
“Mama?”
“Sorry, munchkin. I didn’t hear you.”
“Should I bring food for a picnic?”
“Nope. Daddy is going to take you somewhere to eat for lunch. Then you’re probably going to have dinner at Daddy’s place.”
“With Eddie?” Denny asked, brightening.
“Probably. He’s a really good cook, huh?”
“The best.”
I wasn’t even offended. Even on my best day, I couldn’t cook half as well as Eddie.
There was a knock at the door, making Denny gasp and clap her hands in excitement.
I loved this for her.
I opened the door, and there he was.
My belly flipped.
My sex—well, let’s just pretend there was no reaction there. No muscle memory. No want.
“Hey, princess,” he greeted Denny when she rushed forward to hug his tree trunk of a leg. “Looks like you’re all ready to go.”
“She’s gonna need a bigger backpack,” I said, shaking my head. “Just let me grab shoes. I’ll move over her car seat.”
“No need. I bought one.”
“You bought one? To put in Che’s car?”
“Nope. Bought my own car. Gotta do dad shit like that now, right?”
Dammit. I didn’t need that little heart tug I got each time he stepped up and showed how good of a father he was—and would likely continue to be.
“Would you hate me if I come to make sure you installed it correctly?”
“I watched ten videos and still don’t know if it’s right.”
“You think these are bad,” I said, walking over to slip into some flip-flops, “you should see the pumpkin seat installation. I went to the firehouse and asked them to install it for me.”
We made our way down to the parking lot, where I found the most basic gray crossover known to mankind.
At my raised brows, he shrugged. “When I did my research, this is the safest car on the road. Zero d-e-a-t-h-s. I like that statistic.”
“Me too,” I agreed as I went around to check the installation of the seat, tugging the strap just a tiny bit tighter, then declaring it was good to go.
“You could come,” York offered.
“I think it’s important for you guys to have alone time. She’s counting on Eddie cooking dinner, by the way.”
“When he heard we were going to be over later, he started cooking. Apparently, Denny told him she likes lasagna. He’s got those prepped already. Plus about four other main dishes.”
“I hope you stocked up on sauces.”
“Dunno if I ever paid such close attention to the sauce aisle before. Got the goods. Plus some new ones to try.”
“You’re all set then,” I said as Denny climbed into her seat and fastened her own belt. “Oh, wait. No. Let me get you her CD case.”
“CD case? We in the nineties?”
“She is going to insist on her soundtrack music.”
“I got a phone and a premium subscription. We’re set.”
“Oh, okay. Good then.”
“Stop by for dinner later, if you’ve got nothing going on.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said before going to give my daughter a kiss, then watching her pull away with her father, waving at me out the window until they disappeared.
With that, I busied myself with cleaning the apartment before heading out to my job. To earn money I wouldn’t really need to spend on anything because York apparently also thought ahead enough to have groceries delivered to our door.
I had more money stashed away than I had in years. It was a really good feeling. Safe. Even if I was trying to trust that York had the situation handled, that I wouldn’t need the emergency money again.
I spent my afternoon at a local nature center and park, walking the trails that Denny never would have been able to do with me, feeling old parts of myself slipping back into place. Muscles that had been tensed for years loosened. Stress that had been riding my shoulders for years eased.
I felt light and easy as I made my way to my car, smiling at a picture York sent of Denny’s ice-cream-covered face and fake tattoos. And his own arm where she had colored in his tattoos.
There was this sensation of rightness in my chest at it all.
It stuck with me through the cleaning job of a rental house that was already pretty spotless, so I threw in a deep clean of both fridges to make the time I was meant to spend there.
I drove to the owner, collected my cash, then made my way back to the apartment, deciding that I was going to take a shower and then go and join Denny and York for dinner.
Lasagna was a pain in the ass to make. Why not enjoy someone else’s labor of it if it was being offered?
Yep.
That was all it was about.
Not because I missed my kid.
And definitely not because I wanted to see York.
Nope.
Because I had that line in the sand. And I was going to stay on my side of it, dammit. No matter how much my body wanted me to leap over it and onto York.
I sighed as I made my way from the shower into my room, pulling on the cutest bra and panty set I owned—for no particular reason at all. Then hemmed and hawed my wardrobe. For the first time in my entire life, I wished I owned something cute and girly. A dress, even.
God, what the hell was wrong with me?
I grabbed a pair of biker shorts and my vintage, well-loved Yellowstone T-shirt, reminding myself that I didn’t need to be pretty for York. Because I wasn’t going to sleep with him again.
With that, I made my way back toward the bathroom to grab my phone.
I’d just closed my hand on it when the lights cut out.
My heart froze.
My breath caught.
It was just a blackout.
When I glanced out the window toward the next apartment building, though, it was lit up.
A blown fuse, then.
My hand was shaking as I slid behind the bathroom door and dialed York’s number.
If it was just a blown fuse, I could just pretend to be checking in.
But if it was not a blown fuse…
“Hey, Runa,” I heard in my ear before the door whipped forward, then slammed so hard into my face, I saw stars.
A cry escaped me as the phone fell from my hand, clattering to the floor, sliding just far enough to be out of reach.
“York!” I shrieked, praying the call hadn’t ended, that he could hear me, that he would come.
But before I could cry out again, a hand grabbed my throat hard enough to make my breath catch, then slammed my head back against the bathroom wall.
Pain exploded through my skull, and my vision swam.
Panic set in as my chest got tight, leaving me clawing at his hands, at his face.
No.
I had to focus.
No pointless scratching.
I needed to inflict actual damage.
That was how I’d gotten away last time.
I used one hand to map his face, then used the other to curl my hand, then drove the heel of my hand as hard as I could into the bastard’s nose.
There was a strange crunching sound, then a yowl of pain.
The hand fell from my throat, and I gasped in one breath, then another, trying to get enough oxygen to scream.
I wasn’t in some isolated rental. Or walking down an abandoned street.
I was in a fully-occupied apartment building in a busy area of Florida. Someone would hear me. Someone would come. If they wouldn’t come, they would call the police.
But before I could even breathe again, there was a blunt pain to my stomach. Once. Twice. Three times.
Punches. He was punching me.
But he seemed as blind in the dark as I was, hitting me in the center of my stomach. Painful, but not debilitating like my ribs.
I squeezed into the space near the shower niche, just needing to get out of the cramped space, get into the hall, get toward my bedroom.
Because sitting beside my bed was the very fancy little gun safe. All I needed was five seconds, my fingerprint, and then I would have what I needed to end this.
I had the home field advantage, especially in the dark, I reminded myself. I just needed to squeeze past him.
I sucked in my stomach, tried to make myself as small as possible.
Then I rushed past, scraping my hips against the counter and yanking open each drawer as I went, hoping one might catch him, slow him down, something.
I flew out the door, praying there wasn’t a second set of hands to grab me as I rushed down the short hallway toward my bedroom.