“Here.”
She casts me a grateful look and lets me drape it over her shoulders.
“Thank you. It’s cold, but look how pretty,” she says, gesturing to the lights around us. There’s Christmas music coming from somewhere, a jazzy version ofJingle Bells, and people are crowding the pavement, laden with shopping bags. Everyone is smiling and laughing, and I have to admit that she’s right. This is better than being in the car.
As we walk side-by-side, people look at her as we pass. She’s hard to ignore at the best of times, but dressed up like this, she’s impossible not to notice. Every time some asshole checks her out, I want to sling my arm around her and tell them to fuck off.
Her hand grazes mine as we weave through the crowds, and sparks fly up my arm. As if she felt it too, she glances at her hand, then looks at me, a coy smile slanting her lips as she turns away. It has me questioningeverything.
We can’t get to the venue soon enough. I’ve never felt the need to hold a woman’s hand as strongly as I feel it now. To do something, anything, to signal to the world that she’s mine. To soothe the itch beneath my skin that has me wanting to reach out and touch her.
We’ve been living together for months now, and I could count on one hand the number of times we’ve made physical contact, despite the fact that all I think about is touching her.
“Diana!”
At the shout of her name, she reaches for me, shunting her body closer to mine.
Through the crowd, a man approaches. Shorter than me, but still over six feet tall with grey hair, slicked into a side parting, and a grey woollen coat hanging from broad shoulders, buttoned closed over an expanding waistline.
“Dad,” Diana greets him, but it’s a breathy, frightened sound.
Without looking at me, he grips Diana by the wrist, thick fingers tightening around her delicate skin, holding her firm. “Where have you been?” He tugs on her arm, and she staggers a few steps closer to him. “Why haven’t you answered any of my messages?”
My mind whirs at a million miles an hour. If he’s her father, then he’s the man who destroyed her belongings and threw her out without a penny.
She yanks her hand back, but he doesn’t release it.
“It’s none of your business where I’ve been,” she says, her voice stronger now.
“You’re my daughter,” he growls. “It’s always my business. It will be my business forever.”
“No.” She shakes her head, desperation creeping into her voice again. “Not after what you did. Never, after that.” She pulls harder against his hold, trying to free herself. It must hurt, because her voice thins, rising to a whine as she says, “Dad, please. Let go.”
I step forwards, crowding him. “Remove your hand, or I’ll do it for you.”
The man’s eyes, golden brown and so similar to Diana’s, dart to mine, narrowing as he says, “Who are you?”
“If you think you can throw your daughter out of your life and then walk back in and claim her at your own leisure, you’re mistaken. Let. Go. Of. Her.”
His jaw hardens, and his grip on Diana’s wrist tightens, his knuckles whitening as his next words blast like a round of bullets. “Are you taking care of her now? Is she living under your roof? Does she obey when you issue orders like that? Because she never obeyed mine.”
Diana releases a shaking whimper, and I snap. I circle his wrist in a tight grip, exactly as he’s doing to her, and squeeze hard, wishing I could break his hand right off. “I. Told. You. To. Let. Go.”
He splutters, his gaze darting left and right at the people passing by, throwing wary glances at us. His fingers loosen enough around Diana’s arm that she pulls free, and I release him. He stumbles back, shaking his hand.
“I knew you’d never make it on your own,” he spits at Diana. “You’ll always need a man to take care of you. Is this your attempt to forge your own path?” He glances disdainfully in my direction. “It’s pathetic.”
Diana looks like she’s about to break, but she pulls back her arm like she’s going to slap her father in the middle of the street.
Moving between them, I hold her back and say to her father, “Fuck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of.”
He casts me a lingering, resentful look before sneering at Diana and walking away.
Around us, the crowd keeps moving, and the tinny version ofJingle Bellsplays on repeat. Even the Christmas lights look less joyous now, as if her father’s appearance has cast a dull shadow over everything.
Beside me, Diana’s gaze is unfocused, staring at the ground. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she says, her voice hard.
Without looking at me, she starts walking towards the venue.