“Hey.”

Trick turns at the sound of my voice, clenched jaw, heaving chest, and a mess of makeup all over the floor.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he closes his eyes and dips his chin.

I tiptoe through the mess until I stand in front of him, looking up at the last face I ever want to see. “So my day was good. How was yours?”

He opens his eyes. “I’ve had better.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod. “I can see that. Want to talk about it?”

He searches my face with pain and intensity in his eyes. “Not really.”

I step back and manage to hop up on the stool without smashing anything under my feet. “Well, if you don’t want to tell your lover…” I shy away from fiancée for now “…maybe you should tell your BFF. It usually works for me.”

Planting his hands on his hips, he glances at me, and that lip twitches. He’s mine now.

“I would tell my friend that if I hadn’t already lost my mind, I’d swear it was happening now. I would tell my friend that all I know for sure about my past is that I was seriously fucked-up. I would tell my friend that all I want to do right now is take my lover to bed and fuck her until the world makes sense again, and then I want to pack our bags and get the hell out of here … and never return.”

Uhh …

All I can do is hold my breath. Just … no words.

Trick lifts his shoulders then drops them in defeat as he bends down, tossing some things in the garbage and others back on the counter. “But I would never tell my lover that because I wouldn’t want her running for the hills. So to her I would say that I had an argument with Grady and I let him crawl under my skin. Then I would suggest to her that we grab an early dinner and hang out … maybe play Battleship or Scrabble.”

His defeated tone takes all the humor out of those last words.

I slide off the stool. “Will you be okay for a little while? I need to do something. I’ll be back later.”

Trick nods without looking up from the mess in front of him.

In the car I call my supervising physician and then I call Nana. As the gates open I expect my heart to start racing in my chest, but it doesn’t. It’s as if I don’t care anymore. I’m not here for permission or approval.

“Ms. Carmichael, how nice to see you.”

“I’m still Darby.” I hug Susie, the housekeeper who’s known me since I was born.

She smiles, a soft crinkling around her eyes and lips shows the years. “He’s in his office.”

“Thanks.”

I nod and smile at the extra security stationed around the house. The place I called home for two years before college has become a fortress over the past few months. I knock on the solid wood door.

“Not now.”

I roll my eyes and open the door.

“I said not—” My father looks up from his desk, reading glasses low on his nose, gray hair combed over Donald Trump style. “Darby.”

I step in, closing the door behind me.

“Did I know you were coming?”

I chuckle. “No, sorry did I need to make an appointment?”

He removes his reading glasses, tossing them on his desk, and leans back in his chair. “Have a seat.” He nods to the chair opposite him.

“I’m leaving town.” I sit on the edge of the chair, not planning on staying very long.

My father folds his hands and rests them in his lap. “You made the trip here to tell me you’re going on vacation?”

“No, I made the trip here to tell you I’m leaving indefinitely.”

“That thug break your heart?”

I wish there were some compassion in his voice, like a father should have if his daughter did in fact get her heart broken, but my father is devoid of that.

“No, he stole it.”

“You’re too good for him. You were raised better than that.”

“Better than what? Homeless? You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve seen all I need to know.”

“You’ve seen all you need to know. And what is that? His tattoos? His address?”

“You’re not leaving. With two months left before voters go to the polls, the last thing I need is you making a scene.”

I spring from my chair, gripping the edge of his desk, leaning forward. “A scene? Falling in love and living my own goddamn life is not making a scene! Fucking anything with tits and a skirt is making a scene!”

“That’s enough!”

“I don’t know what my mother ever saw in you.”

“I said that’s enough!”

“Fuck you, father!”

Whack!

Stomach acid gurgles up my throat, but I swallow it back down. With my hand cupping my cheek, I taste the salty metallic mix of blood on my tongue as the tip of it traces the gash on my lip.

“Now look at what you made me do.” He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood … my blood from his hand.

I suck in my bloodied, quivering lip as hot tears bleed down my cheeks. “Nana said my mom saw something special in you … but I’ve never ever seen it.” Turning, I make my way to the door with wavering steps.

The biting sound of hate in his voice stops me as I turn the knob. “That’s because it’s gone. It died with her … the day you killed her.”

Swallowing back the sobs, I run straight to my car. Susie’s voice echoes in the distance, but I don’t stop. The wad of tissue sticks to my lip as I blot the blood and wipe my face in the visor mirror. I wasn’t an abused child. I can count on one hand how many times my father has hit me. Tonight was number four. Justified? Absolutely not. Provoked? Always.

The pain he doles out makes it easy to walk away, but it also makes it easy to come back. Four—the number of times I’ve seen the pain … the love he must have had for my mom. Twenty-seven—the number of birthdays I’ve celebrated without my father. He’s always left a gift or money, but I’ve never once seen him on my birthday. That line between love and hate is so fine it’s nearly invisible. I thought it would get better, but as the years progress his “love” for me has been engulfed by pain, and now all I see is his anger.

It takes me less than fifteen minutes to pack my suitcase. The moment I pull into Trick’s garage, I feel the heaviness in my heart lift and nearly vanish. He is my home, my safe haven. Before the elevator comes to a complete stop, I see Trick sitting at his kitchen counter eating a sandwich.

“I was going to wait for you to eat, but my stomach overrul—” Trick gets his first unobstructed look at me as I tug my suitcase off the elevator. “What the fuck!” He stands with a jerk, sending the stool crashing over against the concrete. He cradles my face before I can utter a word. I flinch as his thumb grazes my cut lip. “Darby, what the fuck happened?”

With a shaky breath I swallow past the lump in my throat, but my tears don’t get the memo that no more are needed. “We can l-leave in the m-morning…” my lower lip begins to quiver again “…go an-anywhere you w-want to go.”

“Darby! Who did this to you?” The last time I saw this look on Trick’s face, he had a gun pointed at my attacker.

I shake my head and sniffle. “I s-said something I-I shouldn’t have.”

“Who?” he seethes.

“My father.”

He releases me and starts to walk past me.

“Trick!” I grab his arm. “Don’t … let it go. Please, I need you.”

He stops, his bicep steel in my hand.

“I need you.”

When he turns back to me, I place my hands flat on his chest. His heart pounds against the rise and fall of each angry breath. Looking down, I slide my hands to the button of his pants.

“No.” He grabs my hands.

Closing my eyes, the tears spill over. I open them and look up. “If you say no … it will hurt worse than anything he said or did to me.”

His brow furrows. I don’t mean to cause him pain, I just need him to take mine away. I need to feel physically and emotionally loved more than I ever have before.

He releases my hands and shrugs off his shirt. His hand cups the back of my head while his lips press to my cheek. The tip of his tongue grazes my skin, dissolving my tears. He consumes my pain with his touch, one tiny drop at a time.

Scooping me up in his strong arms, he carries me to the bed and sets me on the edge. A final shaky breath ricochets through my body. He undresses me with love. Every touch, every look takes away a little more pain.

Then he finishes undressing himself and lets me just look at him. It’s not arrogant, or cocky—no lip twitch. He’s giving me what I need. I need to take all of him in—let him flow into all the cracks and crevices of my heart, replacing all the missing pieces. His love stitches me up … holds me together.

Kneeling on the floor, he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my legs. “My BFF texted me today. She’s getting married. OMG, like … WTF can you believe that? Heart Emoji, kiss Emoji, smiley Emoji, ring Emoji, thumbs up Emoji, and applause Emoji.”

A laughing sob escapes from my chest. More tears, but now they’re tears of joy and love … my God, so much love. I run my fingers through his hair and he lifts his head giving me a breathtaking smile. My palms press to his stubbly face. “Your BFF sounds like the luckiest woman in the entire world.”

His gaze slips and he nods. “God, I hope so.”

I scoot back on the bed. “Come.”

He smirks, and we both know I can use his command, but the control will always be his. “You first.” He presses his hands to my inner thighs, spreading me open. When the heat of his mouth and the brush of his stubble find my sensitive flesh, I moan, letting my heavy eyelids drift shut.

“Trick …” With one hand fisting the sheet and my other clenching his hair, I let him take me to that other world—a world where light and darkness collide, emotions vanish, and all that’s left is the most incredible out of body experience.

After I melt into a pool of bliss in the middle of his bed, he still doesn’t take … he continues to give. His hands glide over every curve with such patience it feels like he’s sculpting me. Lips breathe love over my skin, eliciting a chilling shiver as I arch my back into his touch. His hands slide up, drawing mine above my head. Our fingers intertwine; I cry out as his tongue teases my sensitive nipple.

“Darby …” he whispers over my skin while sinking into me, filling every last physical and emotional void.

Our hands clench together like they’re holding on to something greater than this moment. He rocks into me; hovering over my face, we just stare until … the world makes sense again.

The eight-hundred milligrams of Ibuprofen I took before going to bed numbed the pain and allowed me to collapse into a coma-like state. I don’t think I moved an inch the entire night. I wake feeling rested, but my face is sore again.

“Trick?” my croaky morning voice calls out.

He walks around the corner in black boxer briefs, rubbing a towel through his wet hair. “Good morning.” He smiles and leans down, pressing a feathery kiss to my swollen lip. “You were out.”

I nod. “Yeah, I must have been exhausted.”

He sits on the edge of the bed with one leg propped up. His gaze focuses across the room at my suitcase. “I scheduled us flights this morning.” He looks at me. “Are you sure about this?”

I nod, tracing the script under his arm. Don’t look back in anger. “I’m sure.”

Trick rests his hand on my thigh. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

Sitting up, I climb out of bed, loving the way he unapologetically stares at my naked figure when the sheet falls from my body. “I’ll go anywhere with you,” I say, walking to the bathroom.