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“Uncle Rhyland!” Gravity wiggled out of my embrace, butt naked, and charged toward the living room.
For the first time since he’d walked into my apartment, Tucker and I were alone.
I flashed him a glare full of fury. “She said you pushed her.”
He looked stunned but didn’t say a word. Dread spread across my body. So he did do it. Not that I didn’t believe Gravity, but somehow, the confirmation in his silence undid me. The signs were there. That time he hurt me at the bar. The bruise he left on my wrist.
“You hurt her head,” I said.
He sputtered, making a guttural, nasal sound. “No, I didn’t.” He threw his hands in the air. “And don’t act like I hit her or something. The second she started puking on me, I instinctively pushed her off me, and her head bumped the wall very lightly. Like, just barely. And I said sorry immediately and asked her if she was okay, but she was probably screaming too loud already to hear.”
Panic clogged my throat. I’d put my daughter in harm’s way by trusting her with this…this…monster.
“You don’t freaking push a kid off when they throw up. You soothe them, rub their back, help them.”
Tucker snorted, shaking his head like I was full of it. “C’mon, Dylan. Get off my ass, will ya?”
“Excuse me?” I was on the verge of gutting him with my daughter’s lice comb.
“Taking care of sick kids is a woman’s territory. Men don’t have these kinds of…I dunno, maternal instincts or whatever. I did the best I could in the given situation. It’s civilization, baby. Mother Nature. We’re meant to hunt, not clean rice and chicken nuggets off the floor.”
My mouth hung open, and I stared at him silently. He meant it. He seriously thought it wasn’t his job to take care of his sick kid. The water streaming from the faucet drowned out the throbbing thoughts swirling in my head.
“So what is your role—you know, as a big, macho man with big, macho biceps?” I folded my arms.
“Provide shelter.” He crossed these things off with his fingers.
“Didn’t see much of that these past four years.” I circled a finger around his figure skeptically.
“Well, no, but if you give me a chance—”
“How much money did you contribute toward Gravity’s upbringing?” I continued.
“That’s not fair.” His eyebrows slammed together. “Your family’s loaded! Your brother’s a multimillionaire. If anything, you should be the one helping me—”
He continued talking, but I muted him out. I was losing my mind listening to his idiocy. I turned off the faucet, checked the temperature of the water, and grabbed the door handle. I walked out to the corridor, pouring myself into the living room. There I saw my naked daughter wearing Rhyland’s much-too-big biker jacket. He was crouching before her on the floor, doodling a tattoo on her arm after pushing the sleeve of his jacket up.
“…no one will mess with you after they see this. To be honest, even I’m a little scared,” Rhyland said. Gravity made a roaring sound, baring her teeth, and Rhy chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a biker, remember? Not a tiger.”
“Oh.” Gravity giggled. “What sound do bikers make?”
Rhyland rapped a wooden piece of furniture with his fist. “Hey, bartender! Get me a beer.”
A smile broke across my lips. I strode onto the scene, wagging my finger at him. “Don’t corrupt my daughter.”
“I’d never, Miss Casablancas.” Rhyland stood up, grabbed me by the waist, and tugged me to him. “I’m not even done corrupting you,” his lips murmured into mine. “Came to check in on you and Grav. Got us some pho. How’s everything going?”
I tried to push him off me, knowing Tucker was in the bathroom and could walk out at any minute. Rhyland dove down for a kiss.
“Rhy, not now.”
“Why? Grav already knows,” he murmured into the shell of my ear.
“Tuckwad doesn’t.”
Speak of the devil. He strode out of the hallway and looked between the three of us.
“Coltridge.” Tucker gave him a swift nod.