“I think that should do it,” I say after looking her over and cleaning every open wound I can find.
“Thank you.”
I force a smile. “Here, I’ll run a bath, and we’ll get you soaking. While the tub fills up, I’ll get a pizza in the oven, and then I’ll come back and help wash your hair.”
“I can—”
“Please?”
Misty nods and winces, and I can already see the bruises forming. The ones along her jaw have me clenching mine, but I ignore it. I turn on the water and look around.
“I don’t have any bubble bath like you did. Should I use soap as a substitute?”
“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without bubbles. Might actually sting if we have them.”
“Good point. I’ll beright back.”
I leave her to undress and climb into the water while I preheat the oven. It takes forever, and I pace in the kitchen. She’s in my house. She’s naked in my bathtub, but I just want to hold her. Feel her in my arms and know she’s safe.
As soon as the oven dings, I put the pizza on the rack and take the stairs two at a time. Misty lays in the water, her eyes closed, and she looks almost peaceful.
“Let’s wash your hair,” I say, smiling slightly as I remember her doing just that when she took care of me.
My tub isn’t nearly as big as hers, so I don’t climb in with her. But I do massage her scalp like she did for me. She winces when I reach the back of her head, and I part her hair to find a small scrape.
“I hit my head on the building when he slapped me,” Misty says.
“Slapped you?”
Her eyes won’t meet mine. “I refused to open my mouth, so he slapped me hard enough to bonk my head on the wall.”
I have to close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. All I want to do right now is run out of here, hop on my bike, and give Butch a taste of his own medicine. Make him understand the pain he causes by giving it right back to him.
“I’m so sorry, Misty,” I whisper.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Her wet hand wraps around my wrist. “You didn’t pick your father.”
“No, I did not.”
We finish the bath just as the timer goes off. I wrap her up in a towel and dry her off as it buzzes for a third time.
“Go. I can manage this,” Misty says.
“Youcan wear anything you want. I’ll be right back with the pizza.”
I run downstairs and cut the pizza as quickly as possible. It’s hot as hell, and I put it on plates before grabbing two sodas and a bag of peas from the freezer. She’s going to need to ice her face.
When I return to my bedroom, she’s pulled a sweatshirt over her body, and she looks beautiful. Long, thin legs underneath my oversized sweatshirt that falls mid-thigh with long, wet strands of brown hair making the shoulders damp.
“Food.”
She turns and smiles. “And… peas?”
“For your face. After we eat.”
