Her mom might cause trouble, but whenever possible, we try to offer Ginny safe harbor, especially at night. “Of course she can, tell her she knows she is always welcome,” I answer, craning around Deek who is facing forward, eyes pointed to the dashboard.
It’s Finn, jogging up to our idling car. “Howeyeh, Deek’s keepers! Fancy seeing all of you here!” He’s grinning as he bends down to fit himself at the window. “Howeyeh again, Deek.”
Deek jerks his chin, the only indication that he heard his friend.
Finn waves to me, Maggie, and Charlotte. “Where are you headed to next?”
“We’re going to pick up Charlotte’s friend—” I start.
“Ice cream!” Maggie bursts out.
Charlotte reaches across the backseat and covers her sister’s mouth. “That was still too loud.”
“Smrry,” Maggie says against her palm. Then she must lick her, because Charlotte squeaks and jerks back saying, “Gross!”
Finn’s glowing smile broadens. “How about I take you all out for ice cream?”
“Yes, please!” Maggie chirps—at an auditory level we can all stand this time.
“I’m taking them,” Deek says. And something about the way he says it makes everyone fall quiet.
He turns his head, and I can’t tell if he’s meeting Finn’s eyes, but Finn is sure staring down at him. At work, he’s got a vibe of authority that few people would push against. Here, now, with Deek, he’s wearing an even more commanding vibe than even I’m used to seeing.
If influence can be physically felt, I’d swear our vehicle is feeling Finn’s will pushing into Deek’s. But shockingly, Deek doesn’t back down. “Susan made me supper last night. I’m repaying the treat.”
“Ah,” Finn’s whole manner relaxes. He inclines his head. “And it’ll be good for you to practice being out and about. Fair play to ya, lad.” He claps him on the shoulder and steps back from the car—then his eyes pin mine. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Sue.”
I give him a smile. “Yep. I’ll be in at eight.”
“O’ course. Well, you have a good time. Enjoy ice cream,” he says with an especially indulgent wink for Maggie.
“We will,” she assures him.
“If you’re not satisfied after this, we’re going to bury you in a carton of ice cream,” Charlotte warns her.
“I would like that,” Maggie says.
“Bye, Finn,” I call.
He blows me a cheeky kiss that’s somehow not dorky in the slightest—just attractive—and we wave as I pull out and follow the other churchgoers’ cars down the picturesque road.
***
Ginny is a watchful-eyed fourteen-year-old with a face and curves so pretty, her biggest problem in life should be having to beat modeling agencies away from her door with a stick.
In reality, it’s child-preying monsters she needs the stick for.
Deek’s eyes are narrowed as he stares down at the table… Or at the bruises on her wrists.
Despite the heat outside, she’s dressed in a baggy, stained hoodie. This in itself could be taken as a strange sign for anyone, but for Ginny, it’s especially concerning. She’s got the warmest blood out of all my girls—not that she’s mine-mine, but she practically grew up at our house and even has a bed of her own in Charlotte’s room. She must be sweating like crazy under her layers, and the fact that she’s keeping the hoodie on regardless of her discomfort means she’s deliberately using it in order to hide.
By the way Deek’s scowl has darkened as he stares at her wrists (which Ginny keeps trying to hide with the ragged cuffs of her sleeves), maybe he can guess that her visible bruises probably aren’t the worst of her problems.
Ginny isn’t unaware of where his attention is; she’s exceptionally good at ignoring people’s concern. Apparently, even a werewolf’s concern. Deek tried to gently inquire if she needed help, but she shut him down hard, and he dropped his line of questioning.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s suffering from the devil you know versus the devil you don’t syndrome: if people report the abuse, she’ll be completely uprooted. Plus, it will make her mother feel betrayed (and therefore, make her angry at Ginny), and there’s the big possibility that Ginny will end up in worse circumstances than she’s in now.
It’s scary when you can’t trust that you’ve got a safety net to catch you.
So Ginny sits sandwiched beside me and Charlotte, and across from her is an oblivious Maggie and a quietly incensed werewolf.
The only upside to the circumstances? Having something to focus his attention on is keeping Deek from freaking out. He admitted that public places push too much stimuli; all the sounds, smells, and eyes of too many people.
It must be a submissive thing. I know lots of werewolves from the pub, and they love people. Socializing is like a need. I think they’d shrivel up and die if they couldn’t mingle with the public. See: Finn Cauley.
But for Deek, it’s a different thing, and that’s okay. And although the distraction is good for him, the reason he’s distracted is just… sad. Gah, my heart aches for Ginny. And it’s obvious that her circumstances aren’t sitting well with Deek either.
His righteous anger over the state of her bruised wrists and wary posture is understandable. It’s appreciated that he’s also keeping his opinion on her welfare to himself though. Because if Ginny feels cornered, she’ll run. Right now, she’s working on a triple stack burger like she hasn’t eaten in two days. She didn’t even bother with dessert—and only the desperate souls skip the fun stuff.
“I can’t eat any more,” Maggie declares, sitting with her nose almost planted in her bowl. “But I can’t waste it!”
Deek jerks his chin at her melting mountain of vanilla dairy coated in caramel and chocolate. “Pass it over. I’ll finish it.”
She slides it over to him. “Thanks.”
A dimple appears on the side of his mouth.
I’m so distracted by the sight of it, I tip my cone. The top scoop of ice cream plops to the table.
“Oh NO,” Maggie declares, like this is the absolute worst tragedy she can imagine.
“Napkins,” Charlotte says.
Ginny is already passing them over. “I can smell the cherries in yours, Sue. They smell really good. What a waste.”
“I know,” I lament. “And dang, girl. You can smell the cherries? You’ve always had a good nose.” I snatch up the napkins. “Thanks, guys,” I start to say.
Deek catches Ginny by her fingertips, startling everyone.
“Sorry,” he says—but he pulls her hand closer instead of letting her go. Indignantly, she stands up, trying to free herself as he dips his nose down over her wrist.
He’s already releasing her when she manages to gather herself enough to snarl, “Let me go!”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, head down, appearing to mean it.
“What the hell!?” she demands.
Maggie gasps.
Charlotte winces.
Ginny does too, and she tosses me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Sue.”
I hold up a finger. “I’ll let that one go.” I throw a look to our werewolf, but he’s still hunkered low in his seat, unaware of the slight commotion he’s caused around us. Because other diners are glancing over, wondering what the fuss is about.