Page 47 of Resolute

“I’m Vicente Godoy,” I say and immediately regret it. There’s no way her daughter would know my name. “I’m her boss,” I add instead.

Her eyes go wide. “Boss Man, I’m Ava Flores,” she announces, opening the door for me as she puts a finger to her mouth.

I imitate her and tiptoe into the apartment. The moment I’m inside, I’m met with a much nicer picture than the gloomy outside.

The walls are bright white, decorated with what I assume are paintings made by Ava. There’s a photo of a younger Camila holding a baby in a hospital bed—it might be the first picture of them together. She looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes, but she’s beaming at the tiny baby in her arms.

Something about this place tugs at me. It’s nothing fancy, but it seems warm and homey—lived-in. Completely different from my perfectly sterile, meticulously decorated home.

Ava walks to the sofa, and that’s when I notice a limp. Her right hand is also wrapped in bandages.

What happened?

When she takes a seat, I do the same.

“Mummy is asleep. It’s my fault she isn’t at work today,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes fill with unshed tears, and something inside me cracks wide open.

Nothing in this world—nothing—has ever made me feel this weak and helpless.

I offer her my hand, and she takes it without hesitation.

“What happened?” I ask in my most gentle voice.

“Mummy took me to the park yesterday, and I was feeding the swans,” she says with a bright smile. “Then, I really wanted to see if I could run as fast as the swans could fly, like this.”

She jumps up from the sofa and starts running in place, swinging her arms to match the movement of her legs. But the moment she winces, she quickly takes a seat back on the sofa.

“But then I tripped and fell,” she continues, her voice growing smaller. “And I got two big boo-boos.”

He lower lip quivers, and it takes all the self-control I possess not to hug her and tell her that everything is going to be okay.

How bad could the fall have been?Nothing seems to be broken.

As if she’s reading my mind, she starts speaking again.

“I have a disease. My blood isn’t good, so whenever I get boo-boos, they take a while to heal.”

Fuck.

I can’t imagine what Camila went through yesterday and last night with this sweet angel being hurt. And the thought of this most likely not being the first time they’re going through this breaks my heart in two.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say, and the little girl looks at me with rapt attention. “Why don’t I make you breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”

She shakes her head no.

“And then we can watch a movie while we let Mummy rest,” I add.

She frowns at my plan, and for a moment I feel like a failure. Dealing with children is harder than I thought.

“What is it?”

“I thought you were adicktator,” she says with her sweet voice.

The moment the word registers in my brain, I bark out a laugh.

Dicktator? Yeah, I deserve that nickname. Ihavebeen a dick to Camila.

“Ava, sweetie. Is everything okay?”

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