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“You need a trim.” Her eyes scan my bristle. “Or maybe not. I like you a little overgrown. And overprotective. And over the top. All the overs.”
I laugh lightly and turn her away from me, taking her shoulders and walking her to the bathroom. I shut the door and let her hold on to me while I pull her panties down her thighs, lining her up to the seat. “You’re good,” I say easing her down, crouching to keep myself level with her. She closes her eyes, her nose wrinkling, and exhales, sagging when she releases her bladder. Not shy. No drama about me being here while she uses the toilet. I’m setting the standard, and she’s not protesting my standards. We’re getting off to the best start. Pearl opens her eyes, chewing on the ring in her lip, and reaches for my face, feeling my cheek.
I cover her hand with mine. “I never wanted to be,” I murmur.
“Be what?”
“Your hero.”
Bursts of sparkles light up her green eyes.
“But I do now,” I add, pulling her hand away from my cheek and kissing it. “If you’ll still have me.”
“Have you as my hero?” she asks.
“Or whatever you want to call me.” I rub my scrunched nose with hers. “Just not daddy.”
She chuckles, and I stand while she wipes before helping her up. “Hands,” I say, taking her to the sink and washing them. “Dry.” I smother her hands in a towel and pat off the wet, being careful of her broken arm. “What?” I ask, feeling her studying me.
“Considering you’ve never done this, you’re quite good at it.”
“Washing hands?” I ask, my smile wry.
“Yeah,” she whispers, but I know she doesn’t mean that specifically. Looking after her. Being gentle. Loving.
She lets me lead her to the bed and get her back under the sheets, and I tuck her in, feeling her watching me still. “Water?”
She hums her yes and lets me put the straw past her lips, and I watch her take half the glass before releasing the straw. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I laugh under my breath.
“I’m fine.” I set the glass on the nightstand and perch on the edge of the bed.
“Want to get in?” she says, lifting the sheets with her good hand.
I raise my brows. Not in interest, but in warning. Any kind of intimacy isn’t happening for a while. But that’s okay. I can wait. In the meantime, I get to appreciate her.
Love her.
This. Taking care of her. It feels like what I’ve been waiting to do. This and be a father. I swallow and push back that particular edge of anger until I can unleash it. Right now, I need a level head, and I need some information.
“Are you ready to fill in those blanks?” I ask, and she nods, her happy smile faltering. I take her hand and hold it. “How did you come to be in Bernard King’s possession, Pearl?”
She swallows, her eyes darting. “Because—” Her voice is noticeably tight. “Because he killed my dad.”
I recoil. Her dad didn’t die in a drink-driving incident? “Because he wanted you?” I ask.
“No. He killed him because he hated him.”
“Who was your dad, Pearl?”
Her stare remains on her lap, and I allow it. Anything she needs to make this easier. “He was Bernard King’s brother.”
I jerk, jarring her arm. It’s not her broken one, but she still flinches. “Fuck, I’m sorry. He’s your uncle?” I question, stunned.
She peeks up, and I see eyes so fucking terrified. What the hell did he do to her? “Bernard hated my dad because he was everything he wasn’t. Successful, respected, self-made. A tyrant at times too, but he could control his temper. Bernard couldn’t. He was a bully. Jealous of what my dad had made for us. My mother and I were my father’s trophies. Another facet to his achievements, and Bernard wanted to take away everything Dad had achieved.” She shrugs, biting at her lip.
“My God.” I rub at my forehead. “He’s your fucking uncle?”
“He was always there on the periphery of our lives.” Her hand flexes in mine, not to release it, but to cling on that bit tighter. “Trying to upend everything. Scare my mum, force my dad into losing his temper. There was a time when he wasn’t around.” She smiles. “He joined the forces. I heard Father tell Mother that it satisfied his need to hurt people. But then he came back when I was ten and my mum was back to being anxious again. Father back to being angry.” She blinks, and I move closer, catching the tear that rolls down her cheek, truly petrified to hear the rest of this story. But I need to know everything.
