41

“Kasia?” Zan spoke quietly, as gently as possible.

She was like an injured animal, baring her teeth at anyone who came close enough to help. “Will you listen for a minute?”

She stared at him, so he took that as a yes. “Blake was arrested today. He probably wasn’t even in that car. Could’ve been a family member picking it up or something. The huge thing, though, is that you’ve just been granted a protective order. If you went after him…”

“Then what do I do?” she yelled. “I want to hit something! I want to kick him. I want to make him writhe in pain. What do I do with that?”

Zan’s heart broke for her. “You can hit me, Kasia.”

“What?”

“Hit. Me.” He was dead serious. If she needed to get it out, he would be her punching bag.

Her face contorted into a mask of utter disbelief. She must think he was insane.

“Let it out,” he said. “You’re right to be angry. What he did was wrong, and this has been a long time coming.” Too long.

“You can’t fix me, Zan. You want me to be all whole and happy like your sister, but I’m not—”

“No, I just want you to—”

“Shut up!” She shoved him, slammed into his shoulder with the brunt of her anger. He staggered backward and then spread his feet, steeled himself. Her eyes said there was more to come. And boy, did she let him have it.

He wanted to cheer for her. Wanted to cry.

Her small fists struck his chest and his stomach, over and over. She never came near his face—wouldn’t look at him, in fact. Did she imagine Blake’s face as she pounded him with every ounce of strength she had?

She roared. “You showed up in my life and acted like you cared. Said you were drawn to me. Pretended I was special. ‘Different,’ you said.”

Zan stood there and took it. He didn’t know what hurt more—the sharp jabs of her fists or the pain on her face.

She spat the words out like they were poison. “And you stole everything from me that mattered. You used me. Manipulated me. Just because I chose to be with you didn’t mean I owed you! You think you have some right to me. Get over yourself, Blake! I. Wish. You. Were. Dead.”

Every word was punctuated with a punch or slap to his shoulders.

She turned her back on him, ran toward a tree, and kicked the trunk.

God, help me to know when to step in. Give me wisdom. Zan caught some muttered words.

“Way to go, Kasia…this—for trusting him.” She spoke to herself with such revulsion that Zan couldn’t stay back anymore.

She slammed her hands into the rough bark of the tree, punched it. It suddenly made sense—she was trying to punish herself.

He reached around her and gently took hold of her wrists, pulled her back from the tree. He whispered the truth in her ear. “It’s not your fault, Kasia.”

“I should’ve seen it!” She sobbed.

“But it’s not your fault.” Like yesterday. Replace the lies with truth.

“How could I be so blind?” Her whimpers nearly broke him.

“It was all an act, Kasia. He was a liar, and it’s Not. Your. Fault.” He enveloped her tightly now, held her arms against her stomach. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

“He…took everything…so horrible…I was a fool.”

She hung her head and quit struggling.

“He was the fool. To not see you.” He felt a hot tear drip onto his hand. Thank You. His own eyes burned in solidarity.

“I’m worthless now.” Her body shook uncontrollably with those soft-spoken words, the dregs of an empty heart.

He turned her around and enfolded her as sobs wracked her body. He whispered to her. “Your worth has nothing to do with this. Don’t you know how much you matter? To God?” Softly enough that she wouldn’t hear, he added, “To me?”

She cried until she was empty. He held her in silence.

Minutes passed, and he considered everything she said—everything she believed.

She stepped back suddenly. “Oh, your shirt, Zan. It’s soaked.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers.

“It’s all right.” He offered a smile and tried to lighten the mood. “Feels good against all the bruises you gave me.”

“Oh, jejku.” Her face drained. “I’m sorry. I just sort of lost it.”

“No ‘sort of’ about it.” He grinned down at her. “You’ve actually got a pretty mean right hook, but I’m all right.” He laughed darkly for a moment. “I’m almost sorry you didn’t get to do it to Blake, but…it’s better this way.”

“Yeah.” She kicked at the dead grass. “I guess so.”

He wiped a tear track dry with his thumb. “You cried tonight, Kasia Bernolak.”

Her head lifted, and she sniffed, eyes wide in surprise. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“You know what started all this today, I think?”

“What?” He lifted a wet curl from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

“Blake came to the club. I felt something new today, in the pit of my stomach. When I saw him walk around that corner, all smug. How dare he, you know? I mean, it’s one thing to mess with me personally. But to bring those kids into the line of fire—”

“It’s hard to watch innocent people suffer.” How well he knew that.

“Yes! And to come there. That’s not my personal life. It’s my ministry. This is about others, part of my life without him. I…I’m not doing a very good job explaining this, am I?”

“No, I get it. It was another violation. Another way to step in and ruin something of yours that doesn’t belong to him.”

“Right,” she said. “It made me want to fight. I guess I exploded—sorry it was on you.”

He chuckled. “I volunteered to be your punching bag. I don’t think I expected it so soon, but I asked for it.”

He lifted her hand to study it in the moonlight. Her knuckles were scraped and bloodied, and the gauze from Blake’s assault was half torn off. “We need to take care of these when we get back, all right?”

She nodded, and he kept her hand safely ensconced in his as he led her back to the car.

~*~

Kasia’s heart felt lighter all the way to her apartment door. She fished the keys out of her backpack and opened it. A.J. wasn’t back.

“Thanks,” she said. “I actually do feel better—and clear headed. It’s been a long time.”

“Then it was worth it.” Zan followed her inside and flipped on the kitchen light. “First-aid kit?”

She pulled it from the cabinet under the kitchen sink, handed it over.

“Can you hop up on the counter? Your hands’ll be higher.”

She planted her hands on the counter and jumped but hissed at the pain.

“Sorry,” Zan said. “I should’ve thought of that—lifted you or something.”

Oh, he needed to not say things like that, because she already wanted him to hold her again. When he’d hugged her after she’d cried, he smelled like woods and a baseball glove.

She situated herself on the edge. He took her left hand, unwound the old, loose gauze, and used an antiseptic wipe to clean the heel of her hand.

She concentrated on how the bracelet fit snug against his wrist. How it suited him. “It’s not a problem to wear that for baseball?”

He tweezed a few splinters from her knuckles too, with painstaking precision. “Don’t care. If there’s ever an emergency, they can cut it off me.”

After doing the same with her other hand, he dabbed cream on each scrape and bandaged them.

“Did Bailey ever beat you up when she was all emotional?”

He lifted his gaze to hers and smiled. “She tells me she lost it for a while, but I wasn’t there for it, no.”

“Oh, I thought maybe that’s why you were so perfect out there. Practiced.”

Zan was suddenly consumed with cleaning the countertop. As he turned to throw a handful of bandage scraps in the trash, he muttered, “…far from perfect.”

“I wonder how you know what to say sometimes.”

He washed his hands in the sink and grabbed the dishtowel from the oven door, kept his back to her. “I think I get help with the words—or God tells my heart to shut up—because I sure ask Him to. I feel a little lost here. Just praying I won’t do more harm than good.”

He rehung the towel. Her eyes blurred.

He turned to face her and chuckled. “You must be absolutely spent.”

As she met his gaze, a chill ran through her.

“Cold?”

She slid off the countertop. “Yeah.”

“Is it all right if I grab a blanket from your room?”

She nodded, meandered over to the couch. A minute later, he was back with Tatuś’s old college blanket and her fuzzy slippers. She sat down at one end of the sofa, and before she could react, he had her boots off.

He slid her slippers onto her feet. “It’s not just anybody that can pull these babies off, but you make ’em look good—poodle fur and all.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she pulled her rubber band out of her hair so she could hide behind her curls. She took the blanket from him and wrapped it around herself like a shawl.

“You want to lie down?” he asked.

“Will you leave?” She wanted him right beside her.

He shook his head. “Wherever you need me.”

“Thanks.” She ducked a little. “Would it be too much…? Am I allowed to ask for you to sit there with a pillow on your lap?” She whispered, “For my head?”

As soon as the words were out, she regretted it.

“I told you, you can ask for anything.” He sat down on the far end and chose the softest of A.J.’s throw cushions, settled it against his leg.

Her stomach fluttered at the sight, and she knew this probably crossed some imaginary line in the sand, but she so wanted to curl up next to him.

Her head on the pillow, she pulled the worn blanket tight around her and turned on her side, pulled her knees up close. Zan stretched his arm out on the back of the couch and settled in.

He felt as safe as home.

~*~

Zan swallowed hard when her bandaged hands curled up next to his leg. She was so beautiful, so peaceful. He closed his eyes and prayed for her, for patience. For discipline. There was a time, not too long ago, when a girl might’ve snuggled up, and he’d have thought about getting her to take it a step farther.

But not anymore. And not with Kasia.

He couldn’t let his thoughts head that direction. At all. He shook it off, pulled out his cell, and texted Jayce to let him know what was up.

As soon as her breathing changed, Zan eased himself out of the danger zone. His fingers wanted to run through her auburn hair, and he needed to find something constructive for them to do. He checked the pantry and made a decision.

An hour later, when A.J. and Jayce got there, a pan of warm brownies—Li’l Mama’s recipe—sat on the counter, candles glowed, and a Sara Groves album played in the background. Jayce cocked an eyebrow, but Zan smiled and shook his head. “Believe me, she needed it…and I needed some ambient noise so my baking didn’t wake her.”

“Sure, man, sure. Brownies are always a good idea,” Jayce said.

A.J. laughed.

“What? My mom’s recipe is easy.”

A sharp nod said Jayce was satisfied. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s getting somewhere.”