Destroyed

She’d never been a normal child. So bold and into everything; endless questions and no fear when it came to talking to everyone.

I looked over her head at Fox. He hadn’t moved. No matter how many times I blinked, I couldn’t remove the image of Clara’s tiny hand swallowed up by Fox’s large one. The same hand that’d strangled me and held me firm while he f**ked me ruthlessly. The same hand that’d been scarred countless times doing things even he couldn’t live with.

Ignoring Clara, I hissed, “Fox. You heard me. Don’t you go near her again. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

His eyes came up slowly as if the weight of his crimes crushed his shoulders with a heavy yoke. “I’m sorry.” He blinked, shaking his head. Comprehension and aliveness filtered into his silver gaze. “I couldn’t help it. I—” His eyes flew to Clara. Immediately they swelled with adoration and awe. My heart stopped with how—consumed he looked—how completely different. He’d been transformed from angry warrior to soft giant who hung on every word of a child. “She—she’s perfect, Zel.”

Slowly, he creaked upright, running hands through his hair. He shook himself as if he was a bear coming out of hibernation. “You’ll never understand how much I hate myself for what happened between us today. No amount of apologies will ever redeem my actions, but please believe me when I say I would never hurt your child.” His mouth twisted and he punched himself in the chest. “I give you my oath.”

Clara tugged out of my grip, darting to Fox’s side. My heart ceased to beat as she wrapped her tiny digits through his monstrous ones. Fox shuddered, locking into place.

“Can’t you hear? He’s sad. You’ve told him off, now forgive him. That’s how punishment works, isn’t it? When I do something bad, you yell and then you hug me.” She came forward, unsuccessfully trying to drag Fox toward me. “Hug him and make him feel better.”

Both Fox and I jerked back, leaving Clara stranded between us. Our voices blended in a loud combined, “No.”

We stood staring while Clara planted her feet firmly in the pebbles. “He’s mine. I introduced myself, and we’re friends now. I like him, and you’re silly to think he’ll hurt me. He wouldn’t do that, mummy. He’s not a bad stranger, so stop being mean.”

A noise of half laughter, half panic exploded from my mouth. How had I raised such an eloquent tyrant? So stubborn and old beyond her years.

Clue arrived, jogging to a careful stop beside me. Her body was poised for a fight, eyes flying between Fox and me. “Everything okay here?”

Corkscrew appeared behind her, his ebony skin absorbing the sunlight like black marble. “Mr. Obsidian. Everything alright?”

Fox looked toward him, clearing his throat. “Yes. Fine. Everything’s fine.” His voice held no sign of what happened, or any of the pain I’d heard when he swore he wouldn’t hurt Clara.

His eyes dropped back to Clara, filling once again with amazement—bordering on obsession. My heart skipped a beat. Almost unconsciously I moved forward and wrapped an arm around Clara’s shoulders, bringing her tight against me.

She squirmed, pushing away. Her strength made me rock on my feet, and my attention shot to her. Her cheeks were pink, lips red, and eyes full of fire. The only sign of her episode was paler than normal skin.

She looked ready to go to war for a scarred stranger she’d just met.

She’s just like me.

The thought both thrilled and terrified. I’d been so stubborn when I was young. I wanted to wave a magic wand and make everyone happy—save kittens, rescue homeless children, cuddle puppies, and grant world peace. I’d been so stupid to think I had the power to change anyone’s life. And Clara wouldn’t live long enough to learn that lesson.

Needing to touch her and remind myself she was safe and unharmed, I ducked down. Smoothing her favourite purple jumper, I asked, “Are you okay? Auntie Clue told me what happened at school.”

She looked toward Fox, giving him a small smile. He seemed in a trance, neither returning it, nor even acknowledging anyone around him.

He was completely and utterly besotted.

I hated the intensity. The single-minded connection he had with my daughter. It freaked me out, but also filled me with a small thrum of hope. For the first time, I saw yearning in his gaze.

Yearning to be better. Longing for something I didn’t know.

“I’m fine.” She scowled, her bright eyes meeting mine before flying back to Fox. “I just felt tired from coughing, that’s all. I had a nap, and the stupid school called the hospital.”

“Clara. You know you’re not allowed to use the word stupid.” I tapped her on the tip of her nose. “Use silly or don’t use it at all.”

She sighed, eyes flashing. “Don’t embarrass me, mummy. I’m not five anymore.”

My heart flopped out of my chest remembering her as a tyrannical five-year-old with more energy than a megawatt battery and flossy brown hair.

Clue came forward, putting her hand on my shoulder. I stood upright, not letting go of Clara.

Fox hadn’t moved a muscle. His eyes were full of memories I could never understand, his jaw slack, body slouched as if Clara had stolen the life out of him.

Despite what had happened between us, I hated the desolation in his gaze—the lostness, the sadness.

Tucking Clara behind me once again, I moved forward and waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Fox.”

It took a second, but he blinked and refocused, dragging himself out of somewhere dark. His shoulders straightened. “Sorry. Thinking of someone else.”

Someone? Who?

Clenching his hands, he kept his eyes on mine, not looking down at Clara. “Look, I have to go. Work. I forgot—urgent business.”

My stomach fluttered at his obvious distress. He didn’t need to work. The accounts were in order, all supplies filed and delivered. Opening time wasn’t for another six hours.

He was running.

Two conflicting emotions filled me. I wanted him to run. I wanted him as far away from Clara as possible. But my heart wept at the thought of him alone. Running from a little girl who already adored him. Sprinting from a woman who’d used her short fuse of anger and now just felt endlessly sad.

Sad for him.

Sad for us.

Just sad.

I wanted to blame him for his actions before—for once again proving he wasn’t normal and couldn’t be tamed. But if I had to cast blame, I was tainted myself. He would never have hurt me if I hadn’t pushed. He’d warned me, and I didn’t listen.