We left shortly after, and now I’m sitting in Evan’s car, parked in the driveway holding my sleeping puppy because he’d started crying as soon as I stepped onto the porch.
My shoulders shake with silent tears—I can’t live this way anymore, and I can’t continue to let Lunchbox live like this either. Evan is the one taking care of him when I’m at work and I can’t even depend on him to do that. There’s no telling what he does to Lunchbox when I’m not around.
Figuring now would be a good time to try to go inside, I turn the car off and slowly exit so I don’t wake up Lunchbox. The walk up to the front door seems to take five hours instead of five seconds, and it’s then that I realize it’s because I’m taking the smallest steps possible. My heart is racing so fast, my bloodrushes through my veins, and a feeling of doom settles in the pit of my stomach.
Should I call Dante? Maybe he can pick us up, and we can stay with him until I figure something else out…
I shake away the thought as quickly as it comes to mind. I know he wouldn’t mind, but I can’t inconvenience him like that.
A part of me wants to call my sister, but it’s way too early in the morning.
The trees whisper as a soft breeze rustles their leaves. The sun won’t be up for another few hours, and the darkness of the street is starting to scare me.
The hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle. I turn around hoping to find the masked man standing behind me, but he’s not here.
“You can do this, Essence,” I whisper, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
But when I go to unlock the door, I realize that I can’t, in fact, do this.
I pull out my phone and text Dante, hoping he’s up this late.
Almost immediately he responds with:
DANTE:
On my way.
Not even fifteen minutes later, Dante’s pulling into the driveway. He hops out and walks over to me in just a few long strides. I don’t know if I’m still feeling emotional about Lunchbox’s injury or if it’s just the exhaustion, but I collapse against his hard body and break down.
Dante’s arms wrap around Lunchbox and I, pulling us tight against him. This rustles him awake, but Dante is careful notto crush him in between us. I lay my head against his chest, inhaling the faint scent of woods and smoke clinging to his clothes, and cry until I have nothing left to give.
“Let’s go,” he says quietly, guiding me to his truck. He helps me in and shuts the door before going around to the driver’s side and starting the truck.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding Lunchbox in my lap and running a hand along the length of his neck.
Dante pulls out of the driveway and down the street. When he enters onto the main road, he glances over at me. I can’t see the look on his face, but his tone is soft when he says, “You don’t have to thank me. I would do anything for you, Essence.”
The tenderness of his words undoes me, and once again I’m crying. Evan has never once talked to me the way that Dante does, or given me the emotional or physical security that he does.
When we get to Dante’s house, he helps me out of the truck and carries Lunchbox and I inside. We step into a short hallway that leads into a small, cozy living room. The small space is dimly lit by the soft, warm light emanating from lamps on the end tables on either side of the couch.
Dante sets Lunchbox and I down gently on the couch and sits next to me. He grabs Lunchbox and holds him close, letting him feel safe and protected in a male embrace.
“What happened?” he asks darkly, gently holding up Lunchbox’s bound paw. His tone suggests that he already knows what happened, but he wants me to say it out loud.
“Evan hurt him,” I say quietly, feeling as empty as I sound.
“Essence.”
The sternness of his tone makes me lift my head to look at him. He’s looking down at the floor, but his eyes are hard and full of calm, murderous rage.
“I want you to tell me every detail of what happened tonight,” he says so quietly it’s almost a whisper.
I swallow the lump in my throat. The nerves in my stomach are working overtime, making me feel nauseous. Dante isn’t actually capable of murder, right?
“I was sleeping. When he came in from work and saw Lunchbox in the bed with me, he got mad and threw him on the floor. His toenail is torn pretty badly, but there’s no break or sprain, thankfully.”
Dante nods, then he goes completely still; I’m not even sure he’s breathing. I scoot away, but he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer.
