Taking a deep breath, I stare at the man. I should be scared of him. I don’t know him. He is a stranger to me, and yet he doesn’t seem like a stranger.
The moment he hears the creak of the door, his gaze lifts, and our eyes collide. I’m suspended in time for a second, and my chest hurts, my heart galloping like a racehorse inside of it. I told myself that if I got the chance to talk to him this time, I would be better prepared, but it seems once again, I’m not.
He has the ability to leave me speechless, and I don’t understand why. He makes me nervous, but not in a scary way.
“Hey, butterfly.” He gives me a small wave.
“Hi.”
“She speaks!” His lips curl into a smile, and the tension eases from my stomach.
“Claire… My name is Claire,” I introduce myself.
“Nice to meet you, Claire.” He holds out his hand like he wants me to shake it.
I look at it for a moment before deciding to close the distance between us and put my hand in his. That’s when our size difference really hits me. My hand looks so small and dainty as I place it in his ginormous one. For a second, I think he is going to crush my bones, but when his grip closes around mine, it’s gentle and soft.
As soon as I let go, I take a step back, feeling like I need to put some space between us. I take a seat on the edge of his patio and watch him take a sip of his beer.
“Where did you live before you moved here?” I ask curiously.
“A lot of different places. I moved from one foster family to the next until I aged out. Now I work and got my own place,” he explains.
“What do you do for work?”
“Something different every day. Odd jobs, I guess.” His answer is vague.
“What happened to your parents? Why were you in foster care?”
He chuckles. “First, you don’t talk at all, and now you come at me with all these questions.”
“Sorry.” My cheeks heat. “You don’t have to answer.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I never met my dad, and my mom died when I was little. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry your mom died. Mine left when I was eight.” On my eighth birthday, to be exact, but I don’t mention that part. “It’s my fault she left.”
“I don’t believe that, for a second. Why would you think it was your fault?”
Because my dad tells me it is all the time.
I shrug. “I just know.”
He looks off into the distance and takes another drink of his beer. Usually, when my father drinks, I’m tense and stay hidden in my room until the morning. I’m not scared of this man, even though I know I should be.
“Well, you’re wrong. You’re just a kid; if your mom’s gone, it’s because she chose to leave. Not because you did anything.”
All I can do is shake my head and look away. “Maybe, but that’s not what my dad says.”
“Your dad’s stupid,” he growls, and I jump, startled by the sound that comes from his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He adds.
“It’s okay.” My voice comes out squeaky.
Turning the conversation around, he asks, “What do you do for fun?” I cock my head to the side and stare at him. If there was anyone I could’ve pictured as prince charming, it would be him. I feel safe with him, protected.
“Usually, I just read or sit outside. That’s when I’m not at school. I’m usually pretty bored, though, especially when my dad is at work.”
“Does he work a lot?” Lucca asks.
I nod. “Yeah, but when he isn’t at work, he’s sleeping or drinking so…” I realize I’ve said too much and press my lips together to stop myself from saying anything more.
Lucca’s features darken, and he leans in, his eyes zeroing in on my face, making me feel like I’m being inspected. “If you need anything, butterfly, you can come to me. I will help you. Day or night.”
I swallow around the knot in my throat. That’s what the counselor at the school told me when she saw the bruises, and I told her I fell. She said I could trust her, that she would make sure I was taken care of. I didn’t believe her. I’m used to hiding my pain, used to hiding things, putting on a mask, and pushing through the day.
“I should probably get back.” I look over my shoulder and back to the door, worrying that my father might come walking out the door at any second to yell at me.
“Before you go…” Lucca stands, placing his bottle of beer down, “I have something for you.” He walks over to the door and disappears inside his house.
I stand, staring at the door, wondering what he could possibly have for me. A second later, I’m given an answer when the door creaks, and he comes back out with what looks like a notebook. I’m further puzzled until he hands the notebook to me, and I see a blue and black glitter butterfly on the cover.
It’s beautiful. “Thank you,” I choke out, shocked that he would get me something. No one has ever gotten me anything, not even my father.
Lucca’s eyes dart away, and he picks his beer back up. “It’s nothing. I just saw it, and I figured you would like it. I guessed right.”
“Yes, you did.” I smile and hold the notebook to my chest.
Hope blooms inside right over the spot the notebook rests. “Thank you,” I say again, taking small steps backward.
“You’re welcome… and remember if you need anything, let me know.”
I nod and turn, walking back toward my porch with a wide smile on my face, never looking back even though I’m tempted to.
For the first time in a long time, I feel good about tomorrow. That maybe things will be better? This has to be a sign. It has to be.
3
Lucca
Days blur into months, and I fall into a new routine. Julian has me working almost every day, but I don’t mind it. In fact, I’m glad. The money is good, and the work is… violent, to say the least, but it is exactly what I need.
I’ve never felt so balanced in my life. Working for Julian gives me a purpose, and being able to physically hurt people—to have them fear me—makes me feel powerful and in control, something I’ve never had before.
When I’m not working, I’m home. Usually, I hang out on the back porch, sipping a beer, and enjoying the fresh air.
Claire comes out and sits with me whenever her dad isn’t home. At first, I thought he didn’t like her being outside because he was worried about her, but the more I learn about him, the more I wonder if he’s just a prick who likes to control his daughter.
My gut churns. I know plenty about adults who treat their kids like shit, and I really hope I’m wrong about Claire’s father. Shit, I don’t even know his name. I need to find out more about him and make sure Claire is safe with him.
I could always ask Julian for help. Have him do a background check on the guy, or I could talk to Claire’s dad myself.
The girl has really grown on me, and I feel protective of her. Slowly, she’s become like the little sister I never had. Talking to her gives me a sense of normalcy in between all the chaos.
As if she can hear me thinking about her, she appears in front of me.