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Who touched her with such force that her face was already bruised?

That she lost her purse. Her shoes.

Who the hell did this?

I stalked to my room and grabbed a T-shirt and sweatpants.

Whiskey.

Maybe she’d want a little to calm her nerves. Except she was already calm.

I dropped a few cubes of ice in a glass and covered them with amber liquid.

She was still frozen where I’d left her, staring at nothing.

“Drink a little of this,” I said quietly.

She got a whiff of the whiskey and smacked the glass from my hand. My brows shot up as the tumbler hit the carpet. Ice and liquid scattered.

I dropped to my knees in front of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I never want to see whiskey again.” She spoke in a monotone voice.

I tightened my jaw. “Then you won’t.” I’d make sure of it. I gripped my thighs, desperate to touch her, but I didn’t want to upset her. “Were you—” I struggled to speak the one word. Unprepared for the answer if it was a yes. “Raped?”

She slightly shook her head. I let out a long exhale of relief.

“Can I change your clothes? I brought some sweats. You used to like those.”

An image of a younger Beau lounging in my clothes calmed me a little. I’d always liked her in my clothes. Like she was mine.

But the truth was, I’d always been hers.

She sat up and turned so I could reach her zipper. How many times had I done this over the past few weeks? As much as I loved her body, it wasn’t about gratification. I needed her to feel cared for. Protected.

As I lowered the zipper, I checked her skin for any marks and was relieved to find none on her exposed back. I pushed her dress down her shoulders and unsnapped her bra.

I was careful as I pulled on the sleeve.That bruise on her jaw is getting darker.

“Ahh.” She grabbed her elbow.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said, panicked at the pain on her face.

A circle of deep purple tainted the skin around the crook of her arm. I balled my fist, ready to commit murder all over again.

“Can you move it?”

“I-I don’t know.” She stared at her injury.

If it was broken—Keep it together, Cal. Losing your mind won’t help her.

“Try for me. Just a little.”

Gingerly and so damn brave, she bent her arm. Her features twisted in gut-wrenching pain, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t broken. I’d need to get an ice pack on that arm soon though, otherwise she wouldn't be able to lift it in the morning. I hated what I suspected. Her dad had been following her the other night. I knew what domestic violence looked like. Putting two and two together . . .

Did Teague know?

I freed her arms and scanned her exposed torso in a clinical way. No bruises or scratches. Thank God.