Page 89 of Icing Hearts

“I’ve handled worse villains, Charity.”

“Maybe on paper.”

I force a chuckle. Little does she know. Not only have I faced a few formidable villains, I was raised by one.

He’s on the couch, watching a game with a beer. Barely looks up when we walk in. His head whips toward the door when he hears my voice, hopefully picking up on the menace the leeches out of me.

“Hello, Chief.”

The chief’s gaze darts between the two of us as he rises to his feet. Clara shifts uncomfortably beside me. I squeeze the side of her hand between my thumb and forefinger. “You need help with your bags?”

She shakes her head, and I tell her I’ll be up in a minute.

“Like hell you will.” The chief reaches me in three strides as Clara pads up the stairs in what I now realize is years of practiced quiet.

“Relax. You look like a child.” I cross my arms across my chest and lean against the closed front door. Forced nonchalance. “That’s the problem with you, Chief. You lack control. Instead of sputtering about and going red in the face, let’s talk. Like men.”

He begins to speak, already turning red, and I interrupt, “I know that might be difficult for you because you aren’t actually a man. At least not one with a shred of honor. But humor me.”

“Listen you little criminal—”

I momentarily lose my grip on my unflappability. I grab his t-shirt in both fists and pin him to the wall. The chief isn’t a small man. But he’s smart enough to know I’ll win if this comes to blows.

“No, you listen to me. I know what you’ve been doing to her. I saw the bruises with my own eyes. And before you even start, don’t try to defend yourself. There’s no defense for your actions. I’m just here to tell you that if you ever hurt her again…” A hint of a smile tugs at my lips, picturing the scene I’m about to paint for him. “I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life, then I’ll put a gun in her hand and watch Clara shoot you herself. Do you understand me?”

He nods.

“And, Chief? I will find out if you touch her. Now I’m gonna go upstairs and check on your lovely daughter.”

Clara nervously paces across her room. When I crack the door, she stops short and rushes up to me as the door softly clicks closed behind me.

“How’d it go?”

“It’s all set. We just talked, like I said.”

“Thank you, Tory.” She wraps her arms around my waist, and I fold her trembling body into my chest.

“Hey, we’re gonna do two things now, Clara. Guys like him need time to adjust to the embarrassment of being called out for their crimes.” She looks up at me, horrified. I immediately reassure her. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m going to stay here tonight. We can hang out tomorrow. Out of the house.”

She nods and holds me tighter.

Clara

My room. Is destroyed.

Trashed.

Demolished.

Annihilated.

Every penny saved, poured into making this space my own. Something I could find safety in, while in a war zone. Gone.

Fairy lights? Smashed. Ivy vines? Stomped. Gauzy bug net? Shredded. And the sight that hits me hardest. The photos that I painstakingly matted, framed, and organized into a collage. Are now shattered and sprawled across the floor. Including the photos of my mother.

How could someone—who is supposed to love me—do this?

While the message is strong, it is also clear: it could be so much worse. Fine, he won’t hit me or kick me. But he can still ruin my life. Unless I change my course of action.

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