Page 116 of Icing Hearts

“Sure, Tory.”

His eyes go glassy. “With gale force winds.”

“I love you,” I say, making him go quiet with a kiss that I hope reassures him.

Then he kisses me back and whispers, “You are my favorite person. In the book of my life, your presence is woven through every page.”

“My honey-tongued valentine.” I smile and pat him on the shoulders before we rejoin the party. “Before I go, I need your help with something.”

“Anything,” he breathes.

And I know he means it.

Chapter 72

Clara

Two days later, we’re standing in front of Clara’s house. The house she grew up in. The house she shared many beautiful memories with her mother. The house where her father turned on her.

We stand for a while. By my guess, close to fifteen minutes, holding hands while Clara stares at the front door. The curtains are drawn so I’m sure her father doesn’t see us.

Clara squares her shoulders and gives my hand a quick squeeze before dropping it and clenching her fists at her sides. She’s eighteen now. Clara doesn’t legally need to do this. But she does need to do it for herself.

Yesterday, while her father was working, we came and cleaned out her room. Everything is packed in a trailer and hitched up to the back of her car. He probably didn’t even notice her room was empty.

The metal of her house key grinds against the inner mechanism of the lock, and she twists it ominously. Clara walks in first. She’s dressed for the long drive already—in a t-shirt and athletic shorts. I’m dressed a bit more…tactically.

As soon as he sees me, the chief shoots to his feet, already red and sputtering mad.

“Get the—”

“Sit down,” I bark, narrowing my eyes at the slab of human waste. I rest my hand on the handgun bulging from my waistband in a concealed carry holster, and he sinks back down onto the couch which tells me he’s likely unarmed. I can have it out and aimed in about four seconds. His weapon is nowhere in sight, and if this goes badly, well, I’m just here to make sure it doesn’t. Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve been in a tense situation with an unpredictable adversary.

Clara sits in an armchair, and I stand beside her, arms crossed over my chest.

She twists her hands in her lap and finally says, “Dad, I’m leaving.”

The TV blares beside us, and the chief looks too shocked to think of turning it off, so I slowly reach over and tap the power button myself.

When nothing but silence stretches between them, he asks, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m done being abused. I’m eighteen, and I’m moving out.”

“Oh, Clara don’t be—” he begins.

“I wasn’t finished.” Her biting tone cuts him off at the knees.

His mouth gapes. A sly grin stretches across my face. I don’t think she’s ever back talked him in her entire life.

That’s my girl.

“You’ve hurt me more than I can ever begin to express. We were both devastated after mom died. I lost a parent who loved me and gained a parent who hurt me. Over and over.” She gets louder. “You tried to break me. You may have destroyed our relationship, but I want you to know that you failed to break my spirit. For a long time, I thought you succeeded, but I was wrong. You deserve to be behind bars for what you did. I still might report you. But for now, I just want to be done with you. Looking at you sickens me, and you’re a sorry excuse for a parent.”

“How dare you? After everything we’ve been through.” He narrows his eyes, shaking his head in what seems to be disbelief.

I watch his eyes and his hands, just like in hockey. When someone is going to make a move, their eyes move first, then their hands. Every muscle in my body is tense, like a viper, coiled to strike at any moment, should the need arise.

“This is all his fault.” The chief gestures his chin toward me.

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