She sucked in a shaking breath and stumbled back from him, yanking her sleeves down over her hands. Her face was desolate and pained, and Carter was sure, from the relentless ache inside him, he was suffering every single ounce of it.
“What the hell happened to you this week?” he demanded. All he could think was that someone had hurt her, and, if that were true, that same motherfucker would be read his last rights.
She began pacing, muttering garbled words. Carter, despising the unfamiliar behavior he saw, took a tentative step toward her, moving slowly away from the doorway.
He sure wished he hadn’t. As soon as she saw he’d moved, she made a mad dash for freedom. Carter moved to stop her and, in her haste to move out of his way, she skidded on the wood flooring and careened heavily into Carter’s arms, smashing the air from his body in a loud whoosh.
“Peaches, please,” Carter begged as the pair of them landed in a jumbled heap on the floor. She was still fighting him, still demanding him to let her go, but he wouldn’t give in.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “You … you have to let me go.” Her hands were still pushing at his bare chest, but her strength was waning as the sobs began to overtake her.
“I’m not letting you go. I don’t give a shit what you do.” He held both of her wrists so they’d stop flailing about and stared deep into eyes awash with tears.
“I can’t. I can’t be here. Everything. Everyone hates— I hurt, I … Carter.”
Carter tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her hair in an effort to calm her. “Shhh. I’m here. I’m here. I won’t let you go. I’ll never let you go.”
Her small shoulders shook and, when Carter loosened his grip on her wrists, she threw her arms around his neck and held him as tightly as he imagined she could. And that was fine. He wanted her to hold him. He wanted to soothe whatever pain she was going through and then find the culprit and make them pay dearly.
“I want my dad,” she whimpered into his throat, his skin becoming wet from her tears.
Carter froze, his hand stilling against her. “What?”
“My dad. I miss him so, so much.” Her voice was hoarse and weak, but the desperate grief lacing her words was like a foghorn.
“I know.” Carter closed his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on her head. “I know, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, each word punctuated with a soft hiccough.
Carter continued to rub her hair, stealing soft kisses along the part. “What’re you sorry for?”
“I … I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t stop them. What they did to him. I couldn’t stop them.” Her arms tightened around Carter’s neck. “He told me to run. I shouldn’t have run.”
Carter’s heart thundered. Did she remember? Did she know he’d pulled her away, saved her?
“Today,” she whispered. “Sixteen years ago today, and I miss him so fucking much, Carter.”
Outwardly, Carter was motionless. Inside his skull, his brain moved a million miles a second. Could it really have been sixteen years since they’d first met under such violent, horrific circumstances?
“It was today?”
Her fingers tightened at the nape of his neck, and her nose rubbed along his jaw.
Carter clenched his eyes shut. Holy shit. He pulled her closer, burying his face into the space between her neck and shoulder. She was perfect against him, so soft and delicate. Images and sounds of the night in question flashed behind his eyelids and blared loudly inside his head: her screams, her whimpers, the police gunfire, the color of her dress, and the paleness of her skin.
“I missed you so much,” she whimpered. “I missed you so much this week, Carter. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She kissed the tip of his shoulder. “I had my whole family around me, and all I wanted was you.”
Carter’s eyes rolled back at the sound of her words and the feel of her lips on his skin. “Shhh, you’re here now,” he replied. “I’ll look after you.”
After a moment of silence, Carter pushed his free arm under her knees and pulled her securely to him. After a couple of attempts, on wobbling legs, he managed to stand, cradling her in his arms. He walked slowly toward the bed; his nose pressed against her wet cheek while he whispered words of comfort to her: “I’m here. It’s okay. Hold on to me.”
Never letting any single part of her go, he lay down on the bed and held her closely.
And, just as he had sixteen years before, in a cold doorway in the Bronx, he held on to his Peaches so fucking hard as she grieved for the father who’d been so cruelly taken from her.
20
Kat opened her eyes and was certain of two things simultaneously. First, she wasn’t in her own bed. It was far too comfortable and large to be hers. Second, she wasn’t alone. She was being spooned, quite generously, by a very large, very warm, masculine-shaped body.