“Nope, not happening.” I push past and cross the front door threshold. The pressure in my chest has blood thundering in my ears.
“Sir! We are still fixing her up.”
Her . . .
Chapter
Seventeen
CELESTE
Caleb moves from the doorway just as the paramedic in front of me dabs the nasty cut on my cheek. I hiss at the pain, and she apologizes for the umpteenth time since they started cleaning up my face.
I don’t know what happened.
One minute we were getting ready to go out for the school play, the next, Dad was in a rage, shaking old photos in my face. I’ve seen him get upset and confused before, maybe even a little rough with the household things. But never has he laid a finger on me.
And the sad part is, he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, or who he’s doing it to.
The man I grew up with never would hav?—
“Fucking hell, CC,” a low tone growls.
Quin.
Warm arms swallow me up as the paramedic is jostled out of the way. A heavy groan filters past my ear as sandalwood and spice shroud me.
Quin.
Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave.
And it only takes my body a second to register safety. Sagging against him, the first semblance of a sob slips through. Quin tightens around me, and I breathe him in. The total and overwhelming feeling of exhaustion consumes me.
It’s been three weeks, but they have felt like years. Constantly worrying, busy with every task to make my father’s days more comfortable and less confusing.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
It’s not enough.
A large, warm hand rubs over my back, reminding me I’m only wearing a shirt and no sweater. Trembling against him, I raise my head, just a little.
Caleb hovers outside the kitchen doorway, his cap in his hand. If he hadn’t shown up when he did...
No. I refuse to believe my father would knowingly hurt me. That’s not who he is.
Was, I guess.
This disease has warped his mind in so many ways.
Pushing the depressing thoughts from my head, I put space between us.
Quinton’s eyes narrow as his jaw feathers. “Are you alright?”
“I’m okay.”
His thumb traces the angle of my cheekbone, just under the nasty cut I received from a flying soup bowl I’d left on the draining rack by the sink. Quin steps out of the room, talking to Caleb. I listen to them speak in low tones. “What happened?”
“I got here, and Hank was yelling and tossing stuff. CC was trying to protect herself in the kitchen. But he tossed that bowl, and...”
