Page 4 of Stables

“It’s okay, baby girl.” Pulling Paisley close feels like spikes are being driven through me. I don’t care, she needs me.

“Hey.” Libby lights her hand on my arm. “Ready to go?”

I manage a tiny nod, blinking back the burning tears that threaten to spill over.

Giving Paisley a short hug, I kiss the top of her head before Libby helps me to push myself up.

Oh. My gosh. Streaks of agony ripple through my side and ribs.

I swear there’s a knife stabbing me through a lung when I stand.

My knee almost crumples.

“Jesus, Char,” Libby whispers. Her lean frame manages to hold me upright. I’m lucky she’s farm strong. “He did a number on you.”

“Yea,” I cough as a lightning bolt lances through me. “I was stupid to think this would stop after the divorce.”

“You need a restraining order.” Her arm wraps gingerly around my waist.

Paisley watches us, then her hands clasp the air as she follows. “Up, Mommy! Up!”

“Where are your keys?” Libby asks once we manage to make it to the living room.

I gesture vaguely to the basket on the table.

It’s a foot off from normal because of my swollen knee.

Libby darts over while I balance precariously on one leg. Even the slightest amount of weight on it makes me feel nauseous.

With Paisley on her hip, she holds my elbow until we get to the top of the small set of stairs of the porch. “Hold on, let me put her in her car seat.”

Libby leaves me to battle the rusty door of my Chevy pickup.

The damn thing is older than me. But at the moment, I’m pretty sure I feel like I have more miles on me than its quarter of a million.

I can’t quite make out the words she uses under her breath as she wrenches it open.

Must have been the right combination, because they worked.

Paisley starts whimpering when Libby belts her in, then soothes herself when Libby helps me hobble to the passenger side.

“This might hurt,” Libby grunts as she pushes my backside up high enough to slide into the dusty seat.

“Thank you,” I pant, bracing myself across the middle console. It’s hard to get a lungful of air sitting up straight.

She glances in the rearview at Paisley before firing up my beast of a truck.

Thank goodness it starts.

“You need to kill that asshole,” she whispers low over the roaring engine.

“And then what?” I grimace the words out. “I go to jail? What happens to Paisley?” I glance back at my baby. Her big blue eyes that match mine, stare back.

I’m glad she looks more like me than Matt. It’s selfish, but it’d make it hard to see his face every day.

Every bump makes my rib bones grind against each other. I have little doubt that Matt cracked a couple when he threw the door against me.

The sun is low enough in the July sky to remind me that it’s only been a few short hours since Libby and I were laughing over iced coffee, having the best day.

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