Millie sometimes wondered if she could have had a better relationship with her mother, if only dementia hadn’t set in when it had. Yet, thinking back to graduation and her behavior even before then, Millie figured she’d always had mental health issues, just different ones.
She couldn’t change what her mother thought of her—that time had long since passed.
She could change what she thought of herself. Maybe she didn’t need to see herself through her mother’s eyes, or through Piers’s eyes, or anyone else’s.
Though, she had to admit that she liked the way she looked through Hector’s eyes.
She stared down at her mother. So many questions she’d never get an answer to. So many thoughts and feelings she’d never be able to express and share with her.
It was wrong to think it, but Millie hoped her mother passed on soon. Not because the nursing home bills were bleeding her dry. But because her mother looked like she was in pain—Millie knew all too well what that was like—and her mother, no matter her faults, deserved some peace. Then maybe Millie would get some peace, too.
Millie’s voice was hoarse and thick when she spoke. “Goodbye, Katie.”
She rushed out, not thinking about anything but getting out and getting home.
Annette stepped into her path. “Whoa! Hold on. I’ve got your meds.”
“Oh! Sorry, Annette.” She took the small bag that Annette held out. “Thank you.”
“How was your mother?”
Millie shrugged. “She didn’t say anything. She looked at me but that was it.”
Annette nodded. “Well, you need help with anything, you give me a call.”
Millie blinked. She had Annette’s number—she’d given it to her soon after her mother had moved there—but she’d never thought to use it. “Oh, um, okay.”
Annette gave her a small smile. “You okay getting home with your man?”
“He’s not my man. Well, he sort of is, but—”
Annette looked amused and Millie found that annoying. “Mmm-hmm. I think that man might think differently than you, girl.”
“Annette.”
“My advice? Don’t fight it. He looks like he cares, he’s protective, and he is one fine-looking man. If he wants to look after you, let him. You deserve it.”
Did she? “Okay. Um, bye, Annette.”
“Bye, Millie.”
Hector was idly flipping through a magazine but tossed it aside and stood when she walked into the waiting room. He took the bag of meds from her hand.
“I can carry a bag of pills, Hector.”
“Not when I’m around.”
That was such a Hector response, she nearly smiled.
Imagine that? She’d just visited her dying mother, who hadn’t cared much for her even when she had remembered her, but still Hector could make her want to smile.
His hand gently squeezed her arm. “You okay, baby?”
She wasn’t but she would be. “I’m okay.”
He watched her for a few seconds, then nodded. “All right. Let’s get you home.”
He drove her home in silence. It had begun raining when they left and she didn’t want to distract Hector while he was driving, so she stared idly out of the window instead. After they parked by her building, she slid out, the rain pelting her. Her hair was now plastered in an even more tangled mess to her face, but at least it covered up the right side.
The police had put her suitcase and jewelry remnants that weren’t evidence in the car. The man who’d rescued her at the fair had also spoken to the fair officials on her behalf and managed to get her exhibitor fee reimbursed.
Finally, some luck. A couple hundred back in her pocket, though it was like a drop of water in an ocean. It wouldn’t last long, especially with her hospital bills.
Was that the bright side she should focus on? She had a little money in her pocket and she wasn’t hurt worse; both of those were positives.
Hector, lugging that suitcase out of her trunk, was also a definite positive.
He grabbed her hand, she grabbed her meds, and together they walked quickly.
Hector’s eyes narrowed on the gate—which was open—as they walked through it. “Thought they kept this gate locked?”
“They usually do. But if people are moving in or out, they’ll keep it open to make things easier.”
He eyed the courtyard and the street beyond. “Don’t see a moving truck or van, or even a car piled with shit. Don’t think anyone’s moving.”
She shrugged.
He pursed his lips, and they kept moving through the courtyard.
She steeled herself at the bottom of the steps, then yipped when Hector pulled her into his arms.
Oh. My. God.
She was being carried, bride-style, up the stairs in Hector’s arms.
Wow.
“What are you doing?”
He moved up the steps. “You shouldn’t be going up stairs.”
She rolled her eyes, though it hurt to do it with the damaged one. “I can handle stairs. I don’t think, however, that your legs can handle my weight.” She could feel her muffin-top curves near one of his hands, and her stomach was pooching underneath her top. Not to mention her bra-less boobs. She wished she had a jacket or scarf, something to hide her body some more.
He scoffed. “Baby, my legs are just fine. You don’t weigh as much as you think you do.”
Oh, she did. Every doctor she’d seen—except for the one in Vernee—had told her she needed to ‘exercise more’. She was too exhausted or too busy for that; doctors never seemed to understand that. “I think you need your eyes examined.”
“And I think you need your head examined.”
“Put me down.”
“I will. At the top.”
“Hector.”
“Shut it, babe. Let me help you.”
She couldn’t say anything to that, so she kept her mouth shut.
He deposited her at the top, then went back for her suitcase.
She thumbed through her keys trying to find the right one, but her hands were now shaky.
God, she was so tired.
Hector took the keys from her hand. “I’ll open it. Please. Let me do this. Let me help you.”
She nodded and stepped to the side.
His key-laden hand reached for the lock, then stopped and he frowned. “The door’s cracked open.”
She shook her head. Oh God. They’d come for her.
“Stay here.”
“Just call the cops.”
He locked eyes with her. “Just stay here, all right?”
She nodded, then cursed mentally when she realized she still didn’t have her phone.
He stepped inside. There was a charged moment of silence before he spoke. “Holy shit.”
Her heart was pounding. “Is someone in there?”
“I’m going to check. Stay here.” He shut the door and she was left alone in the hall for thirty seconds before it opened again.
Thirty terrifying seconds.
“All clear, but you should prepare yourself. The place is a fucking mess.”
She frowned; it hadn’t been that clean when she’d left, but he didn’t need to be rude about it. She eased inside and stopped dead.
Everything was destroyed.
Her sofa bed was ripped, her small and several-years-old television was smashed, her stores of jewelry supplies had been upended, tossed, or destroyed. She spied the remains of her phone in the wreckage. Her plates and glasses were broken, and the little food she’d had in her fridge was squished or splattered on the floor. She could see the bathroom door open, and the few creams and lotions she had emptied and splashed over the door and floor. Her cheap plastic blinds were rattling from both the wind and rain; a broken window was behind it, and shards of shattered glass were scattered everywhere.
Every door was open, every cabinet, every drawer. Everything was destroyed.
Her closet door was also open, and her clothes had been shredd
ed. Her cheap, practical underwear scattered everywhere. Seeing that, knowing they’d pawed through her most personal, private things…it was like she could feel the ghost of their hands on her instead.
She took an automatic step back and noticed the wall.
It was covered in lipstick. It was her only tube. She’d bought it because she wanted to look pretty, to feel pretty. Sometimes she wore it around the house, but she’d never felt brave enough to wear it outside.
Three words in rough, red lipstick, staining her walls.
FUCK YOU BITCH.
The tears came whether she wanted them to or not. She backed up again, her shoes crunching over the remains of her life. What had she done to deserve this? What had she done?
The sob wrenched from her, and she covered her face with her hands. Her back hit the wall, and she slid down, down, down.
Until she was picked up by a pair of strong, warm arms.
They were moving, then sitting. His arms were like a blanket. A warm, safe blanket she wanted to keep forever. She burrowed into him.
He rubbed a hand down her wet hair and over her back. “That’s it, baby. Let it out.”
The force of her sobs caused sharp, stabbing pain in her ribs, her face throbbed, and her head pounded like a jackhammer. It had now been hours since breakfast and she was starving, too.
She was a mess. Her life was a mess.
She was so tired of trying to clean up the mess.
When she finally calmed down, she tried to pull away, but he cuddled her closer. “Just relax, babe.”
She shook her head against his tight tee-covered chest. His shirt was soft, but his chest was hard and warm underneath. “I need to call the police. I need to clean up. I need to get some sleep. I need—”
He gave her a quick squeeze. “Take a breath, babe.”
“But I need—”
“We’ll get to all that in a fucking minute. Take a breath.” His voice was low and gentle. She’d never heard anyone say ‘fuck’ so gently before.
So, she took a breath. God, she was tired. Not just exhausted, but she was weary down to her bones.
“I was attacked.” She whispered so softly, she wasn’t sure he’d heard. When his arms tightened around her so much she winced, she knew he had.
His arms loosened, but his body stayed tense. “I know, baby.”
“I think it might be the same people who just trashed everything I own.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” He tried to turn her face to his, but she burrowed into his chest.
She was going to cry again, and she didn’t want him to see it. These problems would never end, never go away. Even if Piers wasn't around, her father was now somehow back in her life, so she'd keep getting hurt, over and over as long as some member of her fucked up family was around.
He gently cupped her head and held it to his chest. His other arm was still firm around her waist. “I don’t want to bring him up, but I need to ask. Was Piers part of the group that attacked you?”
Her voice was scratchy and dry from the tears. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember him if he was there.”
“Do you think Piers could have destroyed your apartment while your father attacked you at the fair?”
Oh God. Could her family be any more fucked up? “Maybe.”
He rubbed a hand down her back. “Okay. We got shit we need to take care of, but I want you to remember something first, babe.”
We have shit to take care of? “What are you talking about?”
“You’re safe with me, Amelia. I’ll keep you safe. I know you might not feel safe right now, but I’ll keep you safe, baby.”
Maybe she was safe with him—okay, she was definitely safe with him—but he might not be safe around her. She’d never be rid of the problems her family brought into her life. It wasn’t fair to bring him into it, keep him there just because she wanted him there. “Maybe there shouldn’t be a you and me.”
He leaned forward and brought her closer. “Don’t backtrack. We made a decision at the hospital to move forward. You made a decision at the hospital to be with me. We’re together, now, babe.”
His voice was still gentle. “I’m falling for you.”
I’m falling for you.
I’m falling for you.
I’m falling for you.
The words echoed in her head. “What?”
“I’m falling for you, baby. Don’t push me away again. Trust me. We can get through this together.”
Her head was spinning and not just from the exhaustion. “I can’t deal with this right now. I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. Maybe after a nap I’ll figure it out.”
“You need that time, baby, I’ll give it to you. But there is no way in hell you’re sleeping here.”
“I—you—what?”
“You’ll stay with me.”
“What?”
He leaned in closer. “You aren’t safe here, baby. The cops probably won’t let you stay here, either. You’ll be safe with me at my place. For right now, we’ll call Persy and the cops, file a report, and get the window boarded up.”
“Okay,” she agreed immediately, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Okay.” He rubbed his nose against hers—which felt really, really nice—then kissed it. “I’m going to call the cops. Just rest here, yeah?”
She nodded. He shoved some things away and slipped her off his lap onto the couch. He kissed her forehead, then stood and pulled his phone out of his pocket. While he called first the cops then Persy—why did he have her number?—he did another walk-through of her tiny apartment.
She put her head in her hands, her fingers meeting the tangles in her hair. She’d probably have to chop it all off if she couldn’t get them out. It had actually happened before. She tried to run her fingers through, but pulling the hair just aggravated her headache.
Pain meds. She looked around, wondering where she’d dropped them. She spied them near the front door and stood.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he made his way to her.
She pointed. “Getting my meds.”
“I’ll get them. Sit down, babe.”
He read the label on the small rattling package of pills as he brought it over. “These can make you pretty drowsy. If you can, wait until after the cops leave to take it. They’ll want to take your statement, and I want you at my place before you fall asleep.”
His place. Best not to think about that. “I’m so exhausted, I could fall asleep right now, without the pills.”
His face softened. “I know. Just a little longer, all right? I’ve got to make another call. Will you get the door if the cops come?”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, baby.”
Thanks. Such a simple word people took for granted. It was one of the reasons she didn’t mind working as a waitress; almost everyone said thank you when she brought them a drink or something to eat. It made her feel respected and acknowledged.
“Thank you, Hector.”
He gave her a little smile, then continued to wander as he whispered words to an unknown someone. The uniformed cops arrived fairly quickly and began securing the scene. A pair of detectives showed up soon after.
“Are you Miss Asti?” someone asked. He had thinning gray hair, but a thick beard and stout belly. His gaze was assessing her bruises.
“Yes.”
He pointed to himself, then a younger man beside him. “I’m Detective Tanan, and this is Detective Mace. This is your apartment?”
“Yes, but Hector Perez—he’s over there—called it in. He’s my—”
“Boyfriend.” He leaned over and shook their hands, then put his arm around her. “I’m also her boss.” The elder cop was now assessing Hector, but Hector didn’t seem fazed. “I entered the apartment first.”
Detective Mace nodded and turned to her. “Miss Asti, may we speak privately for a few minutes?”
“No,” Hector answered for her.
“I
asked Miss Asti.”
“I didn’t fuck up her place or hurt her.”
Tanan raised his eyebrow, his pencil tapping the notepad in his hand. “Oh? And why did you feel the need to say that?”
“Maybe because you’ve had the judging look in your eye since you first saw me and saw her bruises? I would never hurt Amelia or trash her place.”
Hector? Hurt her? He wouldn’t do that. “Hector would never hurt me. I got this yesterday after I was attacked by a group of men at the Vernee County Fair.”
The tapping stopped and the detective’s cheeks flushed.
“And no, one of them was not Hector.” She started to cross her arms over her chest, then winced as her ribs and cast-covered hand protested the movement. Her arms fell to her sides.
Hector was fighting a grin. “If you need a character witness, I’m happy to call my former army captain, Prince Lorenzo.”
“I see. Perhaps you can get us an appointment to speak with him?”
Hector whipped out his phone one-handed—his other arm was still around her waist—and began to tap out a message. The phone buzzed with a message a few moments later. “He’ll meet you at my pub later today.”
The detectives stared dumbfounded. “That’s very generous of him.”
Millie tilted her nose up. “The prince—and Hector, for that matter—are very generous people.”
“Thanks, baby.” He kissed her temple. That was three kisses in one hour! They weren’t romantic kisses, but still. He’d kissed her while she looked like this, and after seeing the latest wreck in her life. Maybe she should stop thinking her fucked up life was too much for him, and just trust him to be there for her.
I’m falling for you.
“Miss Asti?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. My mind wandered.”
Mace nodded. “I understand. I’m sure you’re tired, so we’ll try to make this quick. Can you walk us through what happened?”
She sighed. “Sure. I arrived home—I don’t know, maybe less than an hour ago?—with Hector and he noticed the door was unlocked. We were returning from Vernee. I think the break-in could be related to my attack there.”
“Why do say that?”
She hesitated before she spoke next. “My father may have been involved in the attack with two others I couldn’t identify.”
Rush (Hector & Millie) (Seaside Valleria #1) Page 18
