Page 29 of York

“I could grow potatoes between your toes.”

Denali rolled her eyes but went into the bathroom.

“Call me to do your hair!” Runa called. “She actually never gets stinky or very dirty. She’s very into being clean.”

I was about to ask about her being old enough to bathe herself when Runa finished drying the colander and reached above her head to stick it back in the cabinet. The movement had her cut-off T-shirt inching up.

For just a second, I was fixated on the sliver of skin exposed across her belly, my mind flashing back to what she’d looked like back in a motel room years ago, her bare body spread out on the bed, waiting for me to come over her, to touch, lick, and taste every inch of her.

But as she struggled to reach the shelf, the shirt slipped up higher.

And I saw it.

The very distinct outline of a bruise.

It had gone green and yellow around the edges, time spreading out the blood of the initial injury.

A growl rumbled through my chest as my hand shot out, grabbing the material, and yanking her shirt up to her bra line.

She gasped and jolted, but seemed to sense it was too late to try to brush it off, to pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about when I growled, “The fuck is this?”

Because it wasn’t just a bruise you could maybe excuse for ramming into a chair or door handle. It was one that spread nearly from the waistband of her pants to the band of her bra. It was mostly healed, but the core of it stayed a deep purple.

Runa watched my face, then turned and stepped out of my reach. “I was going to—”

“Is that why Denali has asked me twice if I was going to be nice to you and not hurt you?”

Runa’s eyes went sad. “She asked again?”

“When I got back with her toys. What the fuck has she seen?”

“I want to—”

“Mama! It’s too cold!”

“She’s not allowed to touch the taps,” Runa explained. “I don’t want her to scald herself. I’ll be right back.”

She wasn’t, though.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if that was because she was avoiding a conversation with me.

When she emerged, she had Denali with her. She was clad in long pants and a tee with a princess print all over them. Her wet hair was pulled into two braids, and her face was flushed pink from the heat of the shower.

“Ready for books?”

I only remembered the singular. But I was down for plural. Then a long talk with her mother about what was going on in their lives.

“Yep.”

“You have to do voices,” Denali demanded, making her mother snort.

“I’m afraid it’s a nonnegotiable,” she told me.

“I’ll… do my best.”

“I’ll bring your water in,” Runa said, keeping her gaze away from me as she moved past me and into the kitchen. She wouldn’t look at me as she dropped off the water a moment later, either, while Denali was still trying to rearrange her stuffed animals on the bed. It didn’t escape my notice that there was nowhere for me to sit. But, like seemingly everything, Runa anticipated that and brought in one of the chairs from the dining room set.

Alone, Denali handed me half a dozen books, demanding I read each one of them, even as her eyes got heavier and heavier and she started yawning.