My devious smile grows while I type out my next text.
I can’t. I’m not feeling well.
You okay?
Just sick.
I’ll come pick you up and bring you here.
He responds just as I predicted, so I continue to goad him to me with my replies.
Thanks, but I’m just going to stay here today.
You avoiding me?
No. I just don’t feel good.
Then let me take care of you.
As I’m typing out my next text, the phone begins ringing in my hand, displaying Declan’s name on the screen.
“Why are you calling me?” I ask when I answer.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not. I told you; I’m not feeling well.”
“So instead of lying in your bed, lie in my bed. I’m coming to pick you up. Pack a bag,” he insists in a calm tone, but I resist, telling him, “Declan, no.”
He lets go of a sigh and then questions, “What’s going on?”
I pause, and with an uneven voice, lacking confidence, I murmur, “Nothing. Just . . . just nothing.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“Declan, please.”
“I’m on my way,” he snaps, hanging up before I can respond.
He’ll be here shortly, and I’ve no time to waste getting excited. I have to look the part, so I focus my attention on the one thing that always destroys me—my dad. I sit on one of the couches in the living room, stare out at the grey, snow-filled day, and let my mind drift to him, to my childhood, to everything that hurts me. I think about pink daisies, and the feel of my father’s whiskers poking me with his kisses. And then I think about the first time I went to his grave, coming face to face with the reality that he was really dead.
After a while, I’m not even thinking about Declan. I’m solely consumed with pain and sadness as I cry into my hands. My throat knots as the misery takes over, but the jerk of reality comes when the house phone rings, and I know Declan is here.
“Hello?” I say when I answer the call.
“Mrs. Vanderwal, this is Manuel. I have a Mr. McKinnon here to see you.”
“Um, yes. Go ahead and send him up, please.”
“Will do. Good day, miss.”
I hang up the phone as a few more tears seep out, and I let them linger on my skin as I wait for the knock, and when it comes, I look at my splotchy face, bloodshot eyes, and bruises in the hallway mirror before walking over, ducking my head down, and slowly inching the door open, saying, “Declan, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Let me in, Nina.”
Turning my face away from him, I walk into the living room as he follows from behind.
“What’s going on?” he questions, and when I don’t respond, he grabs my arm and turns me around. “Fucking Christ,” he says with a horrified look on his face when he sees my black eye. “What the hell happened?”
Covering my face with my hands, I begin to cry again. It’s easy to do with my current state of mind. He doesn’t miss a beat when he pulls me into his arms and holds me while I quietly weep, wetting his shirt with my tears.
“Darling, what happened?”
“Bennett was here when I got home last night,” I lie.
Gripping my shoulders, he pulls away to look down at me, his eyes filled with venom when he asks, “He did this?”
The tears drip off my chin, and I slowly nod as I watch his face turn to pure rage, his grip on my arms tightening.
“I’m gonna fucking kill that bastard,” he growls. “Go pack your bags. You’re coming with me.”
“Declan—”
“Now, Nina. I can’t even fuckin’ think straight. Go pack your shit. You’re not staying here,” he snaps, and I don’t say anything else when I turn to walk into my bedroom and to my closet. I begin to quickly pack my bags, and as I walk back out, Declan is pacing the room. When he looks up at me, he rushes over, takes the bags out of my hands, and tucks me under his arm.
“Where’s your coat?” he quietly asks, and when I point to the foyer closet, he wastes no time. He pulls out my coat, slips it over my arms, and then hands me my purse. I quickly put my sunglasses on before we walk out the door.
He doesn’t speak as we take the elevator down and head outside to his car. He tosses the bags in the trunk and then we are on our way to his place. His grip on the steering wheel is firm, knuckles white, muscles flexed. With his focus on the road, I watch his jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth.
When we finally make it to his place, his silence remains as we walk into his loft. With my hand in his, he leads me back to his bedroom. Tossing my bags onto the floor, he sits me down on his bed and gently removes my sunglasses. His eyes look over my face, examining my swollen cheek and black eye. I flinch when he touches it, and he whispers a quick apology before reaffirming, “I’m serious, Nina. I want to kill him for doing this to you.”
“It’s not that bad,” I mumble as I drop my head.
“Have you fuckin’ seen your face?! It’s pretty fuckin’ bad!” He takes a moment and a few deep breaths before softening his voice, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to yell at you. Just . . . Why don’t you lie down? I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay.”
Declan leaves the room, and when he returns with an ice pack, he takes a seat next to me on the bed where I’m lying down and gently places it over the side of my face. Wincing at the contact, I close my eyes and place my hand over his as he holds it in place.
“Tell me what happened,” he whispers as he looks down at me.
“When I got home last night, he was there. I had told him that I was spending the afternoon with a friend, but he found out I was lying and delayed his flight until early this morning,” I explain, and when a few tears seep out and roll down my temples, I continue, “He was mad, and just . . .”
“Hit you?”
I nod, and he asks, “He’s done this before?”
When I nod again I see the muscles in his neck strain. Sitting up, I lean back against the headboard and begin to cry, telling him, “I’m so scared, Declan. If he ever found out about us, I don’t—”
“He won’t find out,” he jumps in.
“He could.”
“He won’t.”
“He’s not what people think.”
“How long has this been going on?” he asks.
“Shortly after we married. It didn’t start out so bad, but now . . .”
“Come here,” he says as he shifts to my side and drapes his arm around me, drawing me into his hold. He kisses the top of my head before saying, “I can’t let you go back to him.”
“I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Nina.”
“It’s not that simple. I’m terrified of what he’ll do because he’s capable of anything,” I tell him as the remaining tears roll down my face. “This black eye is minor compared to . . .”
“To what? Christ, Nina, it looks like someone beat the shit out of you with a fucking bat. You have no idea what I want to do to that fucker right now. Just thinking about him having his hands on you is paralyzing.”
The rage in his voice is unyielding, and his eyes are dilated in fury.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see—”
“You? The real you?” He closes his eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then looks at me with sincerity. “Don’t ever hide from me. Not a single goddamn thing.”
I don’t respond, but he isn’t waiting for me to when he wraps his arm around my waist and shifts us down into the sheets. My eyes close as he drops delicate kisses on my battered cheek and over my eye. With his lips against my skin, he breathes his words, saying, “It kills me to know this about you.”