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I lean over and brush my lips across hers. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Always.” She grins, then her expression goes serious and she puts her hand on the side of my face. “I like that I can be here for you the way you’ve been there for me. And I’m really sorry about… earlier.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I should have asked you if bondage is something you’re comfortable with. I figured since it was me, just my hands holding yours, it wasn’t like you were actually restrained. But I should have asked. And I apologize for that.”

“He used to…” She huffs out a breath.

“What?” I ask gently. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know. It’s just…hard to think about.”

“Tell me what he did so I can make sure I never even come close to doing the same things.”

“It would never be the same with you,” she whispers, lowering her gaze.

I don’t say anything, giving her time to gather her thoughts. My chest is tight again, like it is every time she talks about him, because I can’t imagine having this sweet, gorgeous, giving woman in your life and your bed, and mistreating her. For no apparent reason.

“He used to tie me up,” she blurts, her fingers suddenly icy cold in mine. “He would… have sex with me and then… leave me there. Sometimes until the next day… until Mrs. Wilkes…” She cuts off and horror fills me.

The urge to hurt someone—not Willow, never Willow—is so strong I have to start mentally counting to ten.

What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with that guy?

Someday, some place—I’m going to make him pay for every single time he hurt her.

“I would never do that,” I say, my voice thick with emotions I’m struggling to understand. Not just the fury at the way he treated her but also my own need to make sure no one hurts her ever again.

A thought tickles my psyche—a story she told me about Dylan forcing her to work out even when she had walking pneumonia—and the possessiveness that washes over me is impossible to deny.

I’ll do anything it takes to protect her from him.

“I know.” She still won’t look at me. “I just remembered… the first time… Mrs. Wilkes came in and I was naked… on the bed. Spread eagle. And she acted like it was no big deal. Like this is something he does all the time. The only reason she went and got Dylan to let me go is because I told her I was going to pee all over the bed.”

“Mother—” I try to hide my anger, so she doesn’t think it’s directed at her, but it’s infuriating.

“I’m sure that was his plan… to get me pregnant. To just keep me in bed until it was too late.”

“He’s never going to touch you again,” I vow. “You have my word on that, Willow. I will end him before he can ever lay another hand on you.”

I’m a thousand percent serious too.

Twenty-Four

Willow

I have two palms full of bread dough a couple of days later when my phone rings.

“Dammit,” I whisper.

I have dough to knead and food to finish prepping, a nice meal to put together for Hudson and Frankie, since we’re on babysitting duty for a few hours tonight. And I want to have it all ready before he gets back with his niece in tow.

We’re having fancy food—at Frankie’s request.

So, I’ve upped my YouTube recipe watching, spent lots of time practicing, and tonight we’re having homemade bread (loaded with garlic and cheddar cheese), marinated chicken breasts (they’re currently soaking in a delicious brine in the fridge), veggies that are cut prettily and spices (though not too much because she’s four and I don’t want to overwhelm her tastebuds), and scalloped potatoes (the slender slices carefully arranged in a pan, topped with cream and cheese and ready to be baked next to me).

Is it overkill for a meal, even a fancy one that a preschooler requested? Yes. But am I slowly going insane not having anything to do around Hudson’s house?

I’ve tried cleaning and organizing—but he has a housekeeper, so that didn’t take long.