Page 72 of Smooth Sailing

Fuck.

She was figuring it out.

“Diana, step back,” he ordered.

“Multiples,” she whispered.

He moved his hands to her jaw and got nose to nose with her. “Step back.”

“Multiple sources of DNA,” she pushed out. “It wasn’t just Babic. She was gang-raped.”

“Baby,” he whispered.

She pulled out of his hold, whirled, took two angry steps away, then stopped so fast, her body swayed.

She whirled back to him and announced, “I want to hurt somebody.”

“Somebody’s gonna hurt. Just not you gonna do it. Come here.”

“I can’t. I can’t. I…” She shook her head. “Oh my God, she’s no more than seventeen and she’s been gang-raped.”

He didn’t repeat his command.

He went to her and pulled her into his arms, one around her head so her cheek was tucked to his chest, the other around her, so she was too.

They stood that way awhile, the sun beating down on them, her heat beating into him.

Hugger was working up a sweat just standing there, but he didn’t move, and this wasn’t only because she felt damn good, it was because it felt better, giving her something steady to hold on to.

Eventually, he sensed her pulling her shit together.

Only then did he loosen his hold.

But he didn’t let her go.

“You good?” he asked.

She tipped her head back to catch his eyes and nodded.

“You strong?” he pushed.

“I…I don’t know what you mean, but I hope so.”

He examined her face, at the same time he remembered her meticulously cleaning an ugly-ass painting with a Q-tip. Remembered her being in the middle of an emotional trauma, but not letting the opportunity of a cookie slide by. Remembered her pointing at her head and snapping, “Blowout.” Remembered her delight at Suzette coloring in a book. Remembered her cackling with her ex-stepmom on the couch for two hours, while her sorta-stepdad, once removed made a play at bonding with the men who were looking after a woman he had no blood or real connection to, but he considered her his girl. Remembered her trusting him to help her get through a difficult text convo with her father.

And he remembered something hazy and distant.

It was hazy and distant because he made it that way. It was hazy and distant because he buried it along with every other good thing that happened in his life, outside the honor of looking after his mother.

He remembered his mom coming home from a client to a house he’d cleaned. He remembered her smile. The bright in her eyes.

And her saying, “One day, my beautiful boy, you’re gonna make a woman really happy.”

And he made a risky decision.

“You wanna be in this? Really in this?”

“I don’t know what you mean about that either, but I think so.”

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