Page 93 of Badd Daddy

He couldn’t explain it.

He had just …changed.

It was best I leave.

I sobbed, wept, pleaded…but in the end, I’d given him his ring back and walked out—limped out. Alone.

When I was physically able, I came to Ketchikan with Mom, to a city I’d never been to before. My childhood home in Connecticut was gone. My home and family with the troupe was gone. Oh, the director had assured me I would always have a place, that I could choreograph and help direct and work with the dancers, but I knew myself—that would be torture. I had fought my way to the top, and then to watch Ariadne du Champs take over? No. No way I could do that, not in a million fucking years.

So, here I was, in Ketchikan, without a career, without a future, without a single thought of what to do with my life. No boyfriend, no fiancé, just heartbreak on all fronts.

As I was walking I wasn’t paying attention at all, I admit that fully—and what happened next was entirely my fault.

I was in a rage, a bitter diatribe against life and fate and Rick and love and everything else. An endless loop of pain and misery was playing full blast inside my head. I was not looking where I was going, I was unaware of, well…anything. I had no idea how long I’d been walking, or where I was walking, or what was in front of me. My head was down, just watching my feet, watching my own limp and hating it, too.

Suddenly, I was in the air, salt water splashing in droplets against my face; something had hold of the hood of my sweatshirt and was holding me up by it—I was dangling nearly horizontal over the water, over the edge of a dock or wharf, the green water and sunlight splashing six feet below me.

The thing which had hold of my hood gently tugged me backward, and a hand—at least, it felt like a hand, wrapped around my waist and pulled me upright.

Before I describe the owner of the hand, I should be clear about my own appearance: five-three, weighing just over a hundred pounds, slender at the hips and bust—I was insanely fit, with minimal body fat, and high muscle mass for my size and build. I had platinum blonde hair, the only one of my siblings that wasn’t dark-haired like Mom and Dad had both been—Dad, according to stories and old photos, had been a towhead as a kid, only darkening as he got older, and his uncle and mother had both been platinum blonde like me, which was where I got it. I had Mom’s eyes: gray-brown-green, a changeable hazel.

The owner of the hand was a bear.

Andre the giant.

Goliath.

Towering well over a foot above me, if not more, he was built like that bear fromBrave, the evil one. Massively broad shoulders, arms the size of my waist, thighs thicker than any part of me. Dark skin, caramel and mahogany skin bare from the waist up, wearing only shorts, no shoes, no shirt. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, and he had a thick shaggy beard hanging over his chest. Every inch of his skin was covered in tattoos, the kind that looked to my very ignorant eyes to be ritual native tattoos. Blue ink or black or purple, lines and dots, animal forms like you’d see on a totem pole. I stared up at him, trying to take in his size and gargantuan build and the dizzying, myriad array of tattoos all at once.

“Water’s mighty cold,” he murmured in a rumble so deep I felt it. “Not sure where you were going.”

“Me…me either.” I blinked, swallowed. I’d never seen anyone like this man. “I…thank you.”

He just stared down at me. “Damn, but if you ain’t a tiny little thing.”

I frowned up at him. “Yeah, well, you’re a goddamn giant.”

He shrugged, nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced around us—a dock running in both directions, and a road lined with shops a thousand feet behind me. “Wherewereyou going?”

I shrugged. “I…I really don’t know. I was…um. Lost. In thought.”

“You were walking like a woman on a mission.”

I nodded, licked my lips. “You’ve never gone for a walk so pissed off you weren’t looking where you were going?”

He dragged thick fingers through his beard—even the backs of his hand, his palm, and his fingers were tattooed. “I don’t give things that kind of power over me.”

“Yeah, well, good for you. You’re not the one whose entire life is fucked up.” I felt my throat closing, turned away, embarrassed to be falling apart in front of a total stranger.

“My cousins-in-law own that bar over there,” he said, and I turned to see where he was pointing. “I think you need a drink.” That was a statement, not a question. “You can tell me about it.”

“You don’t want to hear my stupid story.” I turned back to the water, staring out at the amazing, breathtaking view of the channel and the islands opposite.

That huge, tattooed paw of his spun me around as easily as if I were a toy, and his finger touched my chin. “Eyes.” It was a command, and for some reason, I found myself turning my gaze to his own.

Warm, deep dark brown eyes gazed at me, the eyes of a bear, overflowing with bottomless wells of wisdom and kindness. I drowned in them, got lost in them. They were eyes thatcared.

He didn’t need to say anything; everything he wanted to communicate was in his gaze.