2
MARCO
I could fix anything.
From the time I turned three, my parents told me I had a knack for working with my hands. I’d take things apart and put them back together, and I’d do it just for fun.
The older I got, the more refined my skills became. I had an affinity for LEGO building, and when I was old enough to drive, I loved working on my car.
I enjoyed construction.
I thrived when it came to troubleshooting. Problem-solving was one of my favorite things, and I always liked a challenge.
All of that contributed to me winding up where I was now. It was also likely the reason I loved my job so much. That, and the fact I got to work with my best friend at his family’s business. Cooper was the head of maintenance and operations at Westwood’s, and I had been with him from the start, working as his right-hand man. And while it was rare for it to happen, if he ever had a day when he couldn’t be at work—like when he’d recently gone on his honeymoon—I easily stepped into his role and got things done.
Cooper Westwood and I had known each other for as long as I could remember. In fact, I found it difficult to recall a time in my life when Cooper and the rest of the Westwoods weren’t in it.
As someone who already had a big family, I considered myself incredibly lucky to have met Cooper and have his family welcome me into theirs the way they had. I liked being part of their family as much as I liked my own.
But in all the years that I’d been working to repair things, of all the tasks I’d ever had to complete, I hadn’t ever reached a point when I didn’t think I’d be able to fix something.
Until now.
Until I walked into this hotel suite, prepared to finish my last task of the day before I went home.
Until I stopped just inside the door and saw my best friend’s little sister like I’d never seen her before.
I felt a mix of rage and powerlessness at what I saw—her clothes in tatters, her face swollen and bloody, her body trembling, and her expression laced with terror.
Ivy Westwood.
A woman I’d always seen as so strong-willed, fiery, loyal, and hardworking. A woman with a bright spirit and gorgeous personality. A woman I was suddenly feeling the overwhelming desire to protect and take care of.
“Ivy,” I said softly. “What happened?”
Her bottom lip trembled, her eyes frantically searching my face. Ivy’s skin was flushed, her hand gripping her shirt at the center of her chest. It was clear she was on the verge of a complete breakdown, so I set aside the tools I’d brought with me just in front of the door and moved in her direction.
I got there in time to wrap my arms around her and pull her close. That’s when she lost it. Ivy’s body was wracked by uncontrollable sobs, and she clung to me like she was afraid I might vanish if she let me go.
It was such a stark contrast and deviation from the woman she’d always been around me.
And though I desperately wanted to know what had happened to her, who had done this to her, Ivy was barely able to get a full breath in. All I could do in that moment was find comfort in the fact she was here now and that she was safe.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but it had been a long while that I held Ivy in a protective embrace as she cried and fought to regain control of her emotions. She’d taken in several shuddering breaths and eventually loosened her grip on me.
Taking half a step back, she looked at me briefly before she lowered her gaze to the ground. Her voice was just a touch over a whisper when she murmured, “I’m sorry.”
I reached for her, my hand coming to rest at her elbow. Her hand was still clutching her torn shirt at the center of her chest. “You have nothing to apologize for, Ivy. What happened? Who hurt you?”
She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she lifted them to meet mine. “I don’t know. I don’t know who he was.”
I didn’t know why there was a part of me that was surprised by her response. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I had been expecting Ivy was going to tell me I’d gotten it wrong. That nobody had done this to her. Though it looked awful, I was hoping she would tell me that she’d hurt herself when she took up another one of her classes, like she’d been doing for at least a year now.
That she’d just confirmed some guy she didn’t know had done this to her, I was suddenly on edge. My jaw clenched painfully, a vain attempt to suppress the rage that was building inside me.
I focused that rage on inspecting her for injuries, on trying to assess just how bad this was.
“Someone did this to you? Where were you?”