“Yes, baby,” he says. “He’s alive, and he can’t wait to see you. Now do as I ask. Close your eyes, cover your ears, and sing.”
“He’s alive, Mama,” she says, like she needs me to hear it too.
“I know, honey.” My voice breaks. “Come here and let me cover your ears, since your arm is probably broken.”
Livy scoots between my legs, careful and shaking. When I lift my still roped hands to cover her ears, pain shoots through my fingers so sharply I almost cry out.
Maverick goes still.
“Her arm is broken?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “But she hasn’t moved it from against her chest.”
His eyes move to Livy and notices the way she holds her arm.
To the bruise on her cheek.
To my white fingers pressed against her ears.
Then his attention turns back to Rory.
“Hold her ears tightly,bella.”
Livy starts singing loudly.
Some song from one of her cartoons, the words jumbled from fear and tears, but she sings anyway because her daddy told her to.
And because Uncle Steffy is alive.
Maverick steps closer to Rory, where he’s trying to drag himself away on the floor.
“I was going to break your hand for hitting my daughter across the face,” he says.
“Maverick, please.”
“But the fact that you broke a part of her body means I’m going to break all of yours.”
Rory shakes his head hard. “No. No, I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Maverick lowers himself into a crouch beside him.
“Starting with your fingers.”
Rory sobs.
Maverick reaches for his hand.
“Close your eyes, baby,” Maverick says. “You don’t need to see this.”
“Any other time you ask me to look away, I will,” I tell him, speaking over Livy’s trembling song. “But not this time.”
He nods, then turns back to Rory.
Rory tries to yank his hand away, but Maverick catches it easily.
“No,” Rory whimpers. “Mia, tell him to stop. Please. I love you.”
I tighten my hands over Livy’s ear.
