Page 74 of Fight for You

I shake my head.

"Roman said you were working a case on Kaleo. I'm guessing you want to deal with this yourself?" he asks me.

"Yeah. Just file whatever report you need to file for the insurance claim, and I'll take care of it," I tell him.

"I'll go take a couple of pictures of the damage at your place and get the fuck out of your hair." Santiago pulls a business card out of his pocket before handing it over to me. "Send the camera footage to me when you get a chance and I'll make sure it's added to the file in case you decide you want to pursue charges later."

"Thanks, Santiago."

It takes Santiago all of twenty minutes to get what he needs. Once he leaves, I linger outside, reluctant to face January when I know she's pissed about the cameras. When I know she deserves the answers she desperately wants. I make a couple of calls to get Ma Lucia's place shored up until I can get someone out tomorrow to replace the windows and door.

Once that's done, I quickly gather my shit into my duffle and then make my way next door to January's. Until I can get her windows fixed tomorrow, I'm camping out on her couch. She'll probably fight me on it, but I'm not leaving her alone with her windows busted out.

I don't want to leave her alone at all. Ever. Maybe, if I'd never found out the last seven years were hell for her, I could go on living without her. I could sentence myself to that pain because it's what I deserve…but I can't do that to her. She struggled through every day without me. I can't put her through that again.

Even when she inevitably kicks me out of here, I won't go far. So long as she needs me, I'm hers.

"Hey," she says, looking up from the couch when I stop in the doorway. She's changed into yoga pants and a UCLA hoodie and has her hair thrown up in a messy bun. There's a little furrow between her brows and her eyes are dark beneath, like she hasn't been sleeping much either.

The broken glass is gone. So are the rocks.

"I told you I'd deal with the mess," I mutter. She never listens. Ever since she was a little girl, she's been stubborn as hell. It's endearing and frustrating as fuck at the same time.

"It was just a bit of broken glass," she says, her voice soft. "You had other things to do. Besides, cleaning it up was easier than sitting here and stewing."

"I'm not going to apologize for the cameras. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about them, but I'm not sorry for putting them up." I drop my bag by the credenza table and step over the threshold, pushing the front door closed with my foot. "Kaleo is dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I'm not mad about the cameras."

"You're not?" I ask, suspicious as hell.

"I want to be," she admits, "but I know you're only trying to watch out for me. After this, I guess I understand why you thought they were necessary. I'm sorry he destroyed Ma Lucia's house."

"It's just stuff." I shrug it off even though I'm all kinds of pissed about it. "I know you probably don't want me here, but I'm crashing on your couch tonight. With your windows busted, I don't want you here alone. I'll have someone out to replace them tomorrow."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do. His beef is with me right now, not you."

She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and cocks her head to the side. "Did you seriously arrest seven of his people?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

I nod.

"Is that what happened to your neck? You're bleeding a little."

"Dante tried to stab me," I mutter, reaching up to prod at the small wound. It's barely even a scratch.

She shivers as if the thought of Dante stabbing me bothers her. "He always hated you," she whispers, her dulcet voice sweet as hell. "I'm glad you're okay."

I pull my phone out of my pocket. "You recognize either of these pricks?"

She takes the phone from me and examines the screen capture I took of the fuckers who broke out her windows. She studies it carefully before shaking her head and handing the phone back over to me. Her fingers brush across mine, sending a jolt through me.

I think she feels it, too. She stares at me for a second and then drops her gaze to my feet, hiding those emerald eyes from me. Even so, I can practically feel her hesitation and confusion. Her silence always had a way of saying more than she realized. It's the way she moves. When she's sad, she curls in on herself, making herself smaller. When she's angry, her leg bounces up and down. When she's thinking, she goes completely still and stares into space, oblivious to what's going on around her. She's doing that now, staring at nothing.

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