The bell above the door jingles. Cas and Chris rush inside.
“What happened?” Cas asks, scanning the shop.“Grace called me.” He looks from Ethan to me.
Ethan hands him the papers. Cas reads them, then gently takes my wrist, careful of the bruise forming.
“Baby,” Ethan murmurs,“you need to tell Cas everything and file a restraining order against your ex-husband.”
I stare at them, stunned.“A restraining order?”
“It will help with custody if the judge sees Kevin is violent,” Cas says.
“I cannot lose her,” I whisper.
“You will not,” Ethan promises.
And this time, I believe him.
CHAPTER 25
Ethan
I park the truck in front of my parents’place, the gravel crunching under the tires in that way that always reminds me of childhood, of safety. It hits different today. After everything that happened yesterday, after watching Summer shake so hard she could not even lock the shop door, I needed to come here. Needed grounding. Needed a plan.
She was a mess after Kevin left. I do not blame her, not with the way he grabbed her, not with what he said, not with those damn papers threatening to take Mia. She closed the shop early, hands trembling so badly she dropped her keys twice. I took her straight to file the restraining order, and she finally told Cas everything. All of it. Seeing her so raw and scared, it damn near cracked something open in me.
Afterward, I took her and Mia back to my place. We ate pizza, watched old Christmas movies, let Mia fall asleep halfway through The Grinch on my chest. Summer kept rubbing her wrist, trying to hide the bruise forming. She leaned against me with this tired, defeated weight that nearly broke me in half. I drove them home late, walked them inside, and the whole time all I could think was that I will never let that man near them again.
I climb the porch steps, the wood cold under my boots, and push open the door.
Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, the morning sun lighting the room in gold. The smell of coffee wraps around me like a blanket. It is stupid how comforting it all feels.
“There is my boy,” Mama says, crossing the room to hug me tight, like she already knows I need it.
“Morning, son.” Dad gives me a hug too, a quick, strong squeeze, then keeps a hand on my shoulder. His eyes study me with that quiet kind of concern that never needs words.
He nods toward the table.“Sit a minute.”
I drop into the chair, suddenly aware of how damn tired I am.
Dad clears his throat.“I called the bank this morning. Moved some money into your account.”
My head snaps up.“What? Dad, no. I cannot accept that. I have got savings and…”
He stops me with a stern shake of his head.“Your savings are for your future kids.” His voice softens just a little.“Including Mia.”
My chest pulls tight. It hits me hard, how easily he folded her into that category without hesitation, without question. Like he has already claimed her as ours.
“I mean it,” he says.“But I cannot stand on the sidelines,” he goes on, jaw tight.“I am not about to watch that little girl get handed over to a heartless…”
“Joshua Hawthorne, there are little ears in this house,” Mama scolds, smacking his arm lightly.
Dad shrugs.“Point still stands.”
He looks at me, waiting. Offering, but not pushing. And I realize this is not charity. This is family linking arms for the people they love.
I exhale, slow and heavy.“Okay,” I say quietly.“Thank you.”
“We got this.” Dad gives my back a proud pat.
