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VICTOR
Willow’s eyebrowsjerk upward as she processes that bit of information, and she chews on her bottom lip anxiously.
“Are you sure that’s going to work?” she asks. “It seems risky.”
“Oh, it’ll work,” Malice tells her. “This judge has… questionable sexual appetites at best.”
“Malice is right,” I tell her. “The ironic thing is, I don’t think Olivia knew about that part of his secret life at all. I’m fairly certain that the flash drive she had us steal from his house was just related to some iffy financial dealings. So if she was hoping to use that against him, her threat definitely won’t be as strong as ours.”
“Hell no, it won’t.” Ransom grins. “This fucker will probably do just about anything to keep his wife, or the general public, from finding out about the fucked up shit he gets into when he tells her he’s working late. These kinds of assholes will do whatever it takes to keep their reputations intact, and we’re not even asking for that much. Just the recall of three little warrants. We’ll make sure Olivia can’t hold the threat of prison time over our heads anymore.”
Willow nods slowly, still looking worried. “I guess that’s the best plan we have.”
Malice and Ransom crumple up their trash from the meal and start to get up, clearly getting ready to head out. Her head snaps up to look at them as they move, and there’s something wild in her eyes.
“Where are you going?” she asks, looking tense.
“It’s okay,” Ransom assures her. “We’re just going to get moving on this plan. The faster we get shit settled, the sooner we won’t have to look over our shoulders anymore, right? We’re gonna go stake out the judge and gather some evidence.”
I watch Willow take that in. She glances at the clock on the bedside table and seems surprised that it’s already late in the afternoon. She slept late, but I’m glad she did. We all did our best not to disturb her, since she needed the rest, clearly.
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Ransom promises. He winks. “We’ve just got someone’s life to threaten to ruin.”
Willow nods again, although I can tell she’s not quite comfortable with the idea of them leaving.
But they have to, and she keeps her gaze locked on them as they pull on their jackets. Ransom comes over and snags a fry from the pile in front of Willow, popping it into his mouth before leaning a little closer so that their foreheads are almost touching.
“You just focus on relaxing, okay? Take a nap, watch some cable. Whatever you need to do. We’ve got this.”
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Come back soon.”
He chuckles, his voice warm. “As if we could stay away.”
Malice doesn’t come over or say anything, but he gives her a look that’s heavy with significance, and Willow smiles a little shakily. So clearly she gets the message.
Malice and Ransom leave, and as the door closes behind them, she lets out a breath. She seems to deflate a little, staring down at the food on her lap like she doesn’t want to eat any more of it. With just the two of us, things have lapsed back into quiet, and I have a feeling that all of her fears and worries are rushing in to fill the silence.
After what she just went through, it makes sense that she would be nervous to be separated from us, getting caught up in all the awful memories she has now.
But I don’t want her to get dragged back down into that. I don’t want her to lose herself to that dark place.
I’m not Ransom, good at talking these things out and putting people at ease. He has a way of bridging gaps between people that I’ve never fully understood. And I’m not even Malice, with his forceful personality that allows him to just barrel on through things and manage to help somehow.
What Idohave is the memories of my brothers helping me when I’ve needed it. How they’ve always managed to tether me to them when I start slipping away into myself, pulled down by my demons and the trauma branded into me by my father.
What they always do is remind me that there are people who care. That there is life outside my own head. That they’re there for me.
So that’s what I can try to do for Willow.
I roll the desk chair over to her bed and pull the plate of food from her lap. She looks up at me, surprised, and I stab the fork through some of the veggies on the plate, offering them up to her.
“You don’t have to feed me,” she murmurs, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “I’m okay. I can…”
“I want to,” I tell her. “Please? Let me help you.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it, and when she meets my gaze, I can see she’s affected by the offer. Touched by it.
“Okay,” she whispers and lets me feed her several bites.
