Waving to the men, I head back into my house to relieve Pops.
“Hey, Pops. How’s it going?”
He shakes his head. “She said she was going to lie down, but I can hear her up there, sniffling. I don’t want to intrude, but you might want to get up there.”
“Alright. Thanks. See you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.”
He slaps me on the shoulder and leaves through the garage.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I open the door to find Sophia sitting on the floor amid a pile of clothes and an open suitcase, tears streaming down her face.
I kneel on the ground next to her. “Goddess.”
Her head snaps to mine as if she didn’t hear me when I came in.
Taking her face in my hands, I force her gaze to mine. “What’s going on here?”
“I just…” Sobs sound from her chest.
“I don’t know!” More sobs escape, breaking my heart. “I want to keep you safe. And your family. And myself. But I don’t know how to do that. If I stay, you’re in danger. If I go, I’m in danger. There’s no fucking winning for me!”
Reaching out, I pull her into my lap. “Goddess. I’m not in danger.”
“You are! Hugh has a hit out on you! I don’t care how cocky you are, you aren’t immune to the damage Hugh Chiave can inflict.” She rests her head on my shoulder, her tears soaking my shirt.
“Look at me.”
She shakes her head no.
“Goddess. Look at me. Now.”
She shifts her gaze to mine slower than I like, but at least she’s listening.
“I do not give one shit what Hugh Chiave does to me. Because he could never make anything hurt as much as the thought of losing you. So let’s put these clothes away and then I’ll feed you.”
“Wyatt…”
“Nope. Not another argument.” I slip her off my lap and stand, grabbing her suitcase and putting all the clothes away while she watches me from the floor.
I hold my hand out for the shirt she’s had clutched in her hands since I walked in. “This one probably needs to be washed. I maybe used it as a rag while I was crying.”
“Okay.” I push my hand further into her space. “So it goes in the hamper then.”
When she finally lets it go, I toss it in the hamper and scoop her up into my arms.
“Don’t you want to change?” she asks quietly.
“I’m fine,” I respond.
“Please change. You change everyday when you come home. Don’t be uncomfortable. I don’t even want to eat.”
I stop in my tracks, staring at her. “Fine, I’ll change. But weareeating. Do you want me to cook, or do you want to go get food?”
“Cook. I don’t want to see anyone today. And I don’t want babysitters anymore.” She climbs into the bed while I strip.
“We’ll talk about that. But I think you still need someone here with you.” I glare at her over the hem of my tee that I’m about to pull over my head.
