“Let’s take a quick shower,” I whisper. “Then go to bed. I’m tired.”
“Me too.” He slowly pulls out and I feel a loss that leaves me momentarily out of sorts. But then he leans over and scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest like I’m precious to him.
And everything is right in my world.
A ringing somewhere in the room wakes me, and I roll over in confusion. My phone is on the nightstand next to me, and it’s quiet, so I realize it must be Canyon’s phone.
Shit.
“Canyon.” I nudge him. “Your phone.”
“Wha—” He rolls over and then quickly sits up. “Shit.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads over to where he’d dropped his pants before. “Yeah, hello? Ally?”
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she must be rambling because Canyon keeps trying to interrupt.
“Ally. Allison! Honey, I can’t understand you.” In the semi-darkness he turns to me, his face filled with confusion as he hits the button to put her on speaker phone.
“…she hit me!” Ally is sobbing.
“She hit you?” Canyon’s voice is thick with sleep, but also filled with anger. “Marjorie hit you?”
“Yes! It’s Saturday night so I wasn’t tired. I was…” She hiccoughs. “…reading in bed. She came in and started yelling about rules and boundaries and then she yanked my book out of my hands and ripped it in half! It’s a library book!” She bursts into tears again.
“Calm down, Ally. Tell me the rest.”
“I got mad and yelled at her for tearing my book. I told her she was going to have to pay for it and that you were going to fire her. And she slapped me!” She’s crying harder now, and I can see Canyon clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Is she there? I need to talk to her.”
“No! I’m locked in my room. I’m not coming out until you get here! I hate her!”
“Sweetie, I’m in New York. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get there.”
“I don’t care!”
“I can go,” I offer quietly.
“No!” Ally’s sobbing again. “I want Uncle Canyon! You promised! You said you’d take care of me, you said you would be here for me. Please, Uncle Canyon! Please don’t make me stay with Marjorie!”
“What about Colleen? Can I call her until I can get there?” he asks.
“Y-yes.”
“I’m going to call Marjorie and then Colleen, and I’ll call you back. If she touches you again, you call 911. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t cry—I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
He disconnects and stares at me. “She slapped her. She ripped a book in half and slapped her? What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?”
A protectiveness I’ve never felt before flares inside of me. Who slaps a kid over reading a book in bed? What the fuck is wrong with her?
“What can I do?” I feel like I need to be helpful. “Do you want me to go with you?”
He hesitates. “I need to deal with this, and you have to work this week.”
“So do you.”