Break, page 18
I test my luck and hold my hand out to her, waiting to see if she’ll take it so I can lead her inside and past where Danny is currently drooling on the wooden planks. She hesitates, glancing down at my hand once more, then slowly slides her palm against mine. My fingers stretch and wrap around to the back of her hand, completely engulfing it. Giving her a light squeeze in support, I tug her gently toward the door.
Ethan follows us inside. I glance quickly at Vincent, who waves me off. I turn around once I see him pull out his cuffs and a quiet order to Singh to roll Danny to his stomach.
We stop in front of the entrance to the master bedroom. Stepping to the side so she can go in first, I ask her, “Are there any suitcases or bags I can grab? You just need to tell us what to pack up and we’ll help.”
“There are a few in the upstairs linen closet. I will only probably need two.” She looks around her bedroom, then adds as an afterthought, “I think.”
“I’ll grab them,” Ethan’s deep voice rumbles out behind us before he turns away and takes the stairs two at a time.
She twists her fingers together, looking at the room like she doesn’t know where to start. “I suppose I should just pull my clothes out and set them on the bed so I know what to pack.” Her eyes find mine, imploringly. “Should I leave everything else?”
“I think you should take whatever is important to you. Don’t worry about how he feels about it, because this isn’t just his home.”
Sighing, she moves into the room and makes her way into their walk-in closet. I follow behind because I’m not sure what to grab. There’s nothing in here that looks like hers. There are photos of Danny’s family, and some items laying around that he’s collected over the years. His clothes are strewn across the floor like a slob, but nothing that screams ‘Mina’.
Flipping the light on, I hold in a growl when I see three quarters of the closet filled with his clothing, shoes, belts, and boxes labeled with his name on them. There are a small number of women’s dresses, a few shirts, and a couple pairs of slacks hung up. Looking down underneath, I see two pairs of shoes that belong to her. There is a pair of low-heeled dress shoes, and a pair of dirty tennis shoes.
Mina begins to pull her clothes from the rod they’re hanging on and folds them over her arm. Her thin arm starts to strain when she’s halfway through her clothing, so I reach out for them. “I can take those to the bed for you.”
“Thank you… for your help and coming along.” She settles her clothes over my arm, then turns back to collect the rest of her items.
Setting her stuff on the bed, I eye the large dresser with a mirror and another taller one in the room. Calling over my shoulder, I ask, “Which drawers are yours in here? I can start pulling stuff out.”
Mina steps out of the closet and sets her load on the bed next to mine just as Ethan walks into the room. He studies the pile we’ve made, furrowing his brow in confusion, then asks, “Do you want me to grab the rest of the stuff in the closet for you?”
“Oh, no, thank you. This is it.” She bites her lip before nervously saying, “I’ll get the drawers. It’s just the bottom two in that one.” Pointing at the taller dresser, I instantly get angry at Danny all over again.
“This is it? This is all your clothes?” I’m stunned as I look at the small mound on the bed.
“Yes?” She’s hesitant with her answer, unsure if I’m going to be pissed. My eyes lock on her and she’s looking anywhere but at me.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “Aside from this, is there anything else you’d like to grab?”
Her eyes light up briefly before she spins and runs out of the room. Well, that was an odd turn of events. I pursue her once I tell Ethan to put her clothes in the suitcases he’s brought in. Heading upstairs, I follow the sound of her moving around into one of the guest rooms. Upon entering the room, I see her shadow moving within the closet before she walks out holding a clear tote filled with paper.
“I have this one and three more in here. Aside from this and my clothes, I think I only want to grab a few of my favorite books from the office and some toiletries from the bathroom.”
Christ. Danny hasn’t allowed her to have fucking ANYTHING.
I bite my tongue and nod, taking the tote from her hands. “Throw another one on top and I’ll run these out to the car.”
This is the most energetic I’ve seen her since we’ve had her at my home. Peering through the plastic sides, I see flattened buildings and animals and other random shapes pressed tightly together.
Four totes full of anxiety driven paper folding. That’s what she wants to bring along.
Danny needs more than just a punch to his fucking face.
It’s only about fifteen minutes before we have all of her totes packed in the trunk, as well as two suitcases only partially filled with her clothing and toiletries. This woman needs some damn clothes, and I plan to correct this oversight as soon as I can get away with it.
As we pull out of the driveway, I catch Mina staring out the window, lost in thought. I reach out my hand and give her arm a comforting squeeze, hoping to bring her back to the present. She turns to me with a small smile, grateful for the gesture.
“Thank you for everything.” Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper.
“Very happy to help. You doing good?” I ask, wanting to make sure she’s feeling okay with how this all went.
Looking back out the window, she tilts her lips slightly up. “I’m doing better.”
Chapter 24
Hiding From a Girl
Vincent
“What are we doing?” I whisper, then laugh when both Max and Ethan jump where they’re sitting at the top of the stairs.
“Waiting,” Ethan grunts out, then turns to face the bottom of the stairs.
Max doesn’t look happy. He looks uncomfortable and anxious as fuck.
Squeezing between the two of them, I sit down at the top of the stairs with them, and ask, “Seriously, what are we waiting for?”
Groaning, Max drops his head and closes his eyes. “We’re waiting for Mina to finish her newest chore downstairs. She’s been down there for over an hour. Every time we find her doing something, we try to tell her she doesn’t need to. It only ends up making her feel uncomfortable. So, we’re leaving her in peace until she finishes before showing our faces.”
Considering this for a moment, I realize my friends are idiots. “Soo… you’re hiding up here while Mina is down there working her ass off for you? You’re freaking hiding?”
“Yep.” Ethan doesn’t sound ashamed at all by admitting this.
Snickering at them, I use their shoulders to push myself up. “I’m going down there. You two are imbeciles, hiding from a girl.”
“No! Wait. Seriously Vince, I don’t know how to get her to stop!” Max’s pleading just makes this entire thing funnier.
“You guys literally know nothing about people. It’s almost endearing. You don’t make her stop, you fucking help her, you asses.” Shaking my head at them, I take the stairs two at a time. I find Mina in the living room with one of those disposable dusters, running it over the top of the TV and the entertainment stand it’s resting on.
“Morning, my dear!” I call out, making my way into the room. I quickly realize my mistake the moment she freezes and turns to me, gripping the duster to her chest.
“Oh, umm… good morning.” She looks around the room, quickly checking things over before looking back at me. “I’m sorry, I’m not done in here yet. If you just give me like five minutes, I’ll be out of your hair.”
Shit. Max is right. Seriously, this needs to be nipped in the bud right fucking now. “Mina, I know the guys have told you this, but you know you don’t need to keep working around here, doing shit around the house.”
Chewing on her lower lip, she looks down at the surface she was just working on, using her hand to wipe an invisible piece of dust away. “I know I don’t.”
“Then why do you keep doing these things? I know the guys have told you it’s completely unnecessary,” I ask, curious if the guys have ever asked her instead of just telling her to stop.
Without taking her eyes from that spot on the surface, she says, “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s important to me, I guess. It’s my way of saying thank you, I suppose.”
“Ah, it’s your love language.” Understanding dawns on me, and I let out a smile. Crossing the room, I sit on the couch. She watches me, then moves to the opposite chair before slowly sitting, still keeping that duster pressed to her chest.
“I’m not really sure what you mean.”
Nodding my head, I decide I’m going to give her an example instead of just telling her how it is. “Do you like cooking and cleaning?”
She thinks about my question instead of just rattling off the answer she thinks I’ll want to hear. “I do… sort of.”
“Even though you’ve been taught that’s what you have to do?” I press.
She cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean taught?”
Waving a hand around the room, I explain. “I’m assuming that this is what your mom did while you were growing up? Taking care of the home?” I know this topic could bring up her home life, and I’m not entirely against that, but I don’t want to just ask outright. She and I haven’t had much of a chance to just sit and talk. Just asking ‘Did your father abuse you?’ wouldn’t be the best way to get her to open up to me.
“I suppose. But it makes me feel good when I do it,” she admits.
“Explain. Why does it make you feel good?” My mom had this book called The Five Love Languages at home when I was growing up, and I remember her talking with my dad about it. He complained about having to read it, but they discussed it for a while. I couldn’t help but pick up a few things. I’m not an expert in relationships, but I do know how to read people and recognize why they do the things they do because of those dinner conversations years ago.
She relaxes into her chair and looks away, not really focusing on anything in particular as she explains what she means. “Like, if they come home to a nice meal and enjoy the flavors and the effort that I put into it, seeing the happiness over something that I’ve made not only makes me feel full here.” She taps her chest with the duster. “But it also lets me know that I’m appreciated.”
Her answer warms me. Damn, she really is a sweetheart. “What if you don’t get the response you were hoping for?”
“Then I try again.” Her answer is simple and straight to the point.
Leaning forward, I brace my arms on my thighs and thread my fingers together. Nodding my head in her direction, I tell her, “It’s your love language. It’s how you show someone you care.”
“I guess so,” she shrugs, maybe a little uncomfortable with me pointing it out.
Giving her my full smile, I try to put her at ease by letting her in on a little piece of me. “Mine is physical touch. I love getting and giving affection. Hugs, kisses, that kind of stuff. Ethan is an acts of service guy and I’m fairly certain that Max is words of affirmation, but I’m not positive.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shifts in her seat, setting the duster on her lap and threading her own fingers together.
“There’s a book all about it. My mom had it when I was growing up. You don’t know about the five love languages?”
She shakes her head no to my question.
“So, there are five of them. Acts of service, words of affirmation, gift giving, physical touch, and I think the last one is quality time, like spending time together.” I hold a finger up as I list each one. I also make a mental note to call my mom and brag about the fact that I remembered all of them. It’s the little things that count, in my opinion.
She looks nervous when I mention all of our languages, but also intrigued. “I think I’d like the quality time,” she admits. She seems embarrassed by that, and I don’t want that.
“A lot of people have two of them, languages I mean.” Leaning back and settling into the couch, I cross my leg, resting my ankle on the opposite knee. Thinking over all the new facts we’ve learned since Mina arrived, I try my luck at learning a little more about her. “Do you think acts of service was what your mom’s love language was? Or your dad’s? Like when you were growing up, did your mom work around the house because she loved your dad?”
She had her eyes on me when I started speaking, but once I mentioned her parents, they fell to her lap. “I’m not sure. I think it was more of what was expected, maybe?” Scoffing, she looks to the side. “It certainly wasn’t t-touch.” She stumbles over the word like it’s painful to say out loud.
“Why don’t you think it was touch?” I already know the answer, but maybe if she says it, she’ll allow me to ask more questions.
Mina seems embarrassed as she answers. “My parents weren’t affectionate, I guess. They didn’t hug or kiss each other, or me, for that matter. It was always doing something for one another that was important.”
“So, they didn’t hug you and cuddle you when you were a kid?” My heart breaks for the child version of Mina when I ask and she shakes her head no. Who doesn’t hug their kid? Especially one as sweet as her? “How did they show you they loved you?”
She blinks at me, stunned by my question. Hesitantly, she answers, “I’m… umm… I’m not really sure. They fed me and clothed me. I suppose that counts.”
I want to growl out that it absolutely doesn’t count. That was their job as the people who gave her life. That’s not what a parent is, though. “What about Danny, if you don’t mind me asking? What do you think his love language was?”
Her fingers twitch in her lap as she debates how to answer me. “P-Probably physical touch…” Her voice trails off and I feel like an ass for even asking.
Leaning forward to catch her eyes, I wait until they meet mine. I feel awful at the look on her face, understanding what kind of ‘touch’ she’s referring to. “You know what I think should be a love language?”
Letting out a small breath, she shakes her head that she doesn’t know the answer.
She keeps her eyes on me when I say, “I think apology should be a love language. Maybe it goes along with words of affirmation, but I think it should be one on its own. Being able to admit when you’ve done something wrong and apologize for it. Whether or not it’s accepted, making it known that you’re sorry for something you’ve done is so vital to any kind of relationship.”
There’s a slight softening in her eyes when I finish talking, but I don’t think she understands why I’m saying this. “I’ve never thought of it that way,” she admits quietly. “Apologizing always seems like such a hard thing to do.”
I nod in agreement. “It is hard. But sometimes it’s the only way to show someone you care. And sometimes, it’s the only way to make things right.” Taking a breath, I push forward. “Mina, I owe you an apology. For being such an ass as a kid. I was thoughtless and self-absorbed. I didn’t notice things I should have and stood on the sidelines when I did see things that weren’t right. For not speaking up when I knew that you and Danny shouldn’t get married. God.” I hang my head for a moment, then look back at her. “I treated you horribly, and I feel awful about that.”
Mina stares at me, her eyes wide with surprise, as though she never thought that I’d be sitting here apologizing to her. Like she’s never even received an apology before. For a moment, neither of us speak. I watch her as I will my heart to stop pounding in my chest, wondering if I’ve made a mistake by bringing up our past. Christ, I was such a dick to her, but it’s time to make things right.
“Th-Thank you.” She bites her lip and looks embarrassed when she says, “You were quite horrible.”
Wincing, I nod once. “I was.”
More silence ensues, neither of us knowing what to say now. I haltingly start, and then build in confidence as I say, “I… I’m not going to expect any forgiveness from you, but I hope that you’ll learn that I’m not a bad guy. And maybe give me a chance to get to know you a bit while we’re staying here?”
Mina’s eyes bore into mine for a moment before she nods slowly. “I can try.” Her voice is soft, but I hear the reluctance in it. I let out a breath slowly, accepting that at least it’s not a no.
“Maybe we can start later today? Want to go out for a walk or something? I’m sure you’re tired of being stuck in the house. We can’t go out into town just yet because of you know who.” I know I’m rambling, but I’m desperate to change the heaviness of this whole conversation. Whispering, I cup a hand around my mouth. “You know… Voldemort.”
She fights a smile before looking away from me. “Maybe.” Then she jumps when I smack my hands on my thighs.
“I’ll take a maybe. Alright sweetness, I’m going to get out of your hair and stop talking about serious shit for a bit. I’ll be around the house today, so let me know if you need anything.”
She fidgets as she nods her head. Deciding not to push her anymore, I go to leave the room before stopping and turning back to her. Her back is to me now, but I speak up anyway, my voice thick with emotion.
“Mina, I really am sorry for not being a friend for all those years. I’m going to do everything I can to show you’ve got one in me now.”
With that, I leave the room, missing the small shudder that runs through her body at my promise.
Chapter 25
Sick
Ethan
She’s sick.
Like, really sick.
Standing in the doorway, I watch her. I’m so fucking worried over the paleness of her skin and the sheen of sweat beading across her brow as she furiously scrubs at a spot on a pristine plate in the sink.
