“Okay. I need to check Vander’s injuries,” I say, putting my practical hat on. “West, go clear out one side of the garage to create space so we can temporarily move Vander’s paintings in there.” I will have to go and get them myself because they’ll need to be covered so it’s not obvious most of them are of me. “Stella, go change the bed linen in the spare bedroom. The blue one,” I add, not wanting to put him in the bedroom Curtis was sleeping in. I glance down at Vander as I pop the lid off the medical kit. “I don’t want you going back there tonight. You can stay here.”
“I’ll grab a few of the guys and head over to the carriage house to get your stuff,” West offers.
“No,” Vander and I say in unison.
“You said yourself Greg is a psycho.” I set the kit on the window ledge beside me. “I want you nowhere near there. I will organize something. For now, just clear out the garage, please.”
West opens his mouth to protest, but Vander shakes his head. “Your mom is right. It’s not safe. I’ll ask Jimmy to get a couple of the older guys from the boxing club to go over later. They can get my paintings and my stuff.”
“Okay.” West skims his eyes over his best friend. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled you off him. Maybe I should’ve let you finish the job.”
I’m not touching that. “I’m glad you got there when you did.” My gaze swings to Vander. “Should we be worried about your father pressing charges? Maybe you should report this.”
“He won’t press charges.” Vander gingerly lifts his T-shirt up. “He’d never do that.”
“We should at least take pictures,” I say. “That way, if he tries to do anything, we have evidence of your injuries.”
Vander nods as West helps him to fully remove his shirt. I suck in a horrified gasp at the sight of the bruising on one side of his chest and along his rib cage. “I’m going to get ice for those ribs,” West says. “They’re going to hurt like a bitch.” He should know. He’s suffered his fair share of bruised ribs over the years, thanks to football.
When we are alone, I crouch down and tenderly cup Vander’s face. “How much pain are you in, and don’t lie to me.”
“It’s about a five,” he says, softly poking his ribs and biting down on his lower lip. “I have suffered worse.”
“I hate that you have,” I whisper, battling a sudden rush of emotion.
“Kendall.” Vander grips my wrist. “I’m okay. Trust me when I say he’s hurting far worse than me.”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?” I have to ask. Not because I care about that piece of shit—because I care about Vander.
“West checked. He was still breathing. Just out cold.” He brings my wrist to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to my skin. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
“I’ve missed you too,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t have any time for you this week.”
“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, reluctantly letting my hand go. “Don’t apologize. I know this was a stressful week for you, and you had to prioritize your family. I could never resent you for that. I reminded myself hourly when the need to see you was almost too great.”
I stand and tilt his face up. “I’ll look after you now. You’re safe here, but you can’t stay for long.” The temptation will be too great.
“I know.” His tired eyes lock on mine.
“Your beautiful face,” I say, softly examining the bruising on his cheeks and jawline.
“It’ll heal.” He shrugs, like it’s no biggie, and I hate that it probably isn’t for him.
Before I patch him up, I take several pictures with my cell, ensuring I capture every mark, bruise, and cut. He spreads his thighs so I can step between them as I tend to his face first. West returns with ice packs, which Vander holds to his ribs as I clean his face and apply arnica cream to the bruises and antiseptic cream on his cut lip. Vander asks West to grab his gym bag and cell from his truck so he can call Jimmy.
“You might need an X-ray for those ribs,” I say, afraid to even touch them.
“Nah. They’re only bruised.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Dad cracked a couple of my ribs one time before. I know what it feels like.”
“I hate him,” I blurt. “Perhaps I should start putting poison in his coffee at work.”
Vander looks up at me with an amused grin. “You’d do that for me?”
“I would,” I reply without hesitation. “If I thought I could get away with it.”
