Joel
Cuts and scratches riddled Annie’s feet and legs and arms, but it was her eyes that were seriously unnerving.
Unfocused.
Distant.
Her face lax.
Like she’d been from the moment I reached her at the trees. She hadn’t so much as flinched when I took her by the arm and drew her inside.
And she hadn’t so much as moved from the spot since I’d paused in the kitchen, dropped my hold on her arm, and moved down the hall to get my Rosie.
Hadn’t moved when I carried Rosie back, nor when she went and retrieved a jacket and wrapped it around her mother’s shoulders.
She still wasn’t moving now.
Her face remained lax, her gaze unfocused.
Rosie glanced back over her shoulder at me, brows lifted.
I shrugged, did the only thing I could think of—moved to the sink and pulled out the first aid kit from the cabinet beneath it.
Then I walked back over to the women.
Rosie had taken my cue—of course she had—wrapping her fingers around her mom’s arm, drawing her over to a stool, nudging her down into it. I handed her a cleaning wipe, watched as she hesitated, then tore it open, dabbing at some of the worst wounds, watching as she opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.
She exhaled, asked what I thought was the most pertinent question. “Why are you here?”
Annie flinched, the fog clearing.
She lifted her arm, almost in slow motion, and opened her hand, turning it palm up, and revealing…
A flash drive.
“What’s that?” Rosie asked after a moment’s pause.
“Evidence.” Annie stood, jacket falling from her shoulders, turning and gripping Rosie’s arms tightly enough to make my woman wince, shaking her so fiercely that I took a step toward them, intending to pull her free.
But then Rosie was slipping out of the hold, rotating and taking her mothers’s hands, retrieving the flash drive. “Evidence of what, Mom?”
The fog started to slip back in.
I saw it creep onto the edges of Annie’s expression, watched it settle into her eyes.
So did Rosie. “Mom. Mom.”
A blink. Clarity. “Evidence of your father’s corruption,” she whispered.
I pulled open the door just enough to allow my dad to make his way inside, but not far enough to give any of the photographers standing on the sidewalk, parked next to the curb, a glimpse into the house.
“Hey,” I said softly as I shut and locked the door. “Thanks for coming, Pops.”
My dad clapped me lightly on the shoulder. “No thanks needed, son. Not now. Not ever.”
I exhaled.
My dad had joked not long ago that he was great at giving Dad—and it was true. He was steady, easy, and there had never been a moment in my life where I questioned his love for me, questioned that he liked me, questioned that he would be there for me, no matter how big the ask.
“They’re in the office,” I told him, gesturing down the hall.
“Want to give me a debrief before I get in there?” he asked, leading the way.
I exhaled, nodded, keeping pace with him. “I looked out the back window, saw a person out there. Didn’t realize it was Annie until I got to her. She’d apparently walked from her house”—which was on the other side of the fucking canyon—“in her bare feet and nightgown.”
“Jesus Christ,” my dad muttered. “Is she okay?”
“Chilled and cuts all over her. I don’t know how she made it here in the dark. She didn’t have her phone or a flashlight, but she managed to hold on to this the entire way.”
We’d reached the door to the office.
My dad turned to me, lifted his brows.
I held up the flash drive.
“What’s that?”
“She says it’s evidence of Rosie’s dad’s corruption.”
Those brows lifted higher. “What’s really on it?”
“No clue,” I muttered. “I figured it was best not to open it unless a lawyer was present.”
My dad’s mouth ticked up into a small smile. “Glad I raised a smart son.”
“Sometimes.”
He reached for the doorknob. “Is she okay?”
“Annie?” I asked. “Or Rosie?”
“Both of them.”
“Annie’s slipped back into that fog. I might as well be talking to a piece of furniture for all I get back from her, and Rosie hasn’t had much more success.”
My dad sighed, shook his head. “And Rosie?”
“Bruised and cut up and bewildered, but taking it like she always does when she gets another blow to the chin.” I clenched my teeth, released them. “She just straightens her shoulders and moves forward, ready to take on the fucking world.”
He dropped his hand from the knob, brought it to the back of my neck and drew my forehead to his. “We’re going to figure this shit out, and she’s never going to have to deal with this shit again, never going to have to deal with the world trying to burn her down or tear her to pieces. Okay?”
That fire was burning in my belly, had been for months now.
That my dad was willing to step into those flames with me meant everything.
“Okay,” I whispered.
One more squeeze and then he released the back of my neck.
Reached for the knob again.
He pushed the lever, opened the door. Rosie was still standing where I’d left her, taking up position next to the chair her mom was sitting in, where her mom was just staring blankly at the wall.
Rosie moved toward us.
And I saw that same fire burning in her belly.
The Mayoral Magic—no, the Billie Rose Magic. Ready to take on the world, ready to kick ass, even with a cut on her cheek and a black eye.
“Rob,” she said, moving in and hugging my dad. “Thanks for yesterday.” A breath. “And thanks for being here today.”
Business.
All business.
That was okay.
I got it.
Because it was a fuck of a lot better than the bleakness in her eyes from the night before.
She needed those walls, needed that intensity and fire and the rage at what happened to her.
A battle lay ahead of us—
And I had the feeling that we would all need every bit of strength to win it.