Page 53 of Ablaze

Mala heaves in a breath. “It’s over now anyway, and I’m fine. I’m just . . .” she clears her throat as her chin wobbles, “I’m just trying to move forward.”

My nostrils flare. “Move forward?” I turn my head to the side, catching one of her sweatshirts strewn on a sleeping bag on the floor, along with a rolled-up blanket. That enrages me even further. “Move forward by sleeping at the bakery? Move forward by not telling me or your brother anything–”

She wipes her cheek. “Dean, this isn’t something for you or Rohan to worry about, okay? These things happen. Couples break up. It’s not like I’m going to live at the bakery forever. I’m going to find a new place soon.”

“But why didn’t you call me? Why not come over to my place when–”

“Come on, Dean,” she scoffs before her words get a little less assured. A vulnerability floats over her face when she looks down to her feet. “I-I didn’t want to bother you, in case . . .” She shrugs. “You know, in case you were with Jessie.”

God help me.

When will this woman understand her place in my fucking life?

I grind my molars so hard, I’m surprised she can’t hear them. “Mala, look at me.” She does reluctantly, slowly raising her head to meet my eyes. They’re so fucking deep and rich and brown, I’m lost in them momentarily. Her lips–her fucking beautiful, heart-shaped mouth–twitch as she tries to compose herself, and I tighten my grip on the counter behind her to do the same. “You are my goddamn best friend. Do you know that?” When she doesn’t say anything, I repeat, “Tell me you fucking know it.”

She nods.

“Then you should know that no one, not Jessie, not Rohan, not my brothers . . . no one takes your place. When I told you I’d do anything for you, I meant it.”

She nods again, whispering, “I know.”

“Then you should have come to me. You should have called me.” I raise my hand, letting it fall on her shoulder again, momentarily forgetting that she’d winced when I touched her earlier. When she jolts again at my touch, I’m seeing red.

Fucking red everywhere.

What did that piece of shit do to her?

I grit out my next words, “Show me.”

She shakes her head. “It was nothing, Dean. An accident–”

“Mala, I swear to God . . . Fucking show me, or I’ll head over there and bury the motherfucker with my own hands.”

Mala sobs, placing the heels of her hands on her eyes. I let her because that’s what she seems to need right now. But I wait.

Her sobs quell and she sniffles, nervously looking back at the double doors to the kitchen.

“No one is coming in here,” I assure her. “Now, show me.”

She slowly pulls off her sweatshirt and I take in her pine-green bra. My eyes only faintly linger over the scar on her palm-sized breast before they sharpen on her shoulder. I’m positive my lips pull back so I’m baring my teeth as I take in the black and blue bruise forming all around her shoulder, seeping down to her bicep.

That piece of shit motherfucker! I knew–I fucking knew–there was something about him. I felt it in my gut, but made myself believe it was all in my head. Made myself believe I was only seeing him that way because I was jealous.

I’m fucking beside myself, trembling in a kind of rage I’ve never felt before. My growl is barely restrained from becoming an all-out roar. “How the fuck!?”

“It was an accident, Dean. He was angry about . . .” she hesitates, “some things, and I shouldn’t have tried to touch him at that time. It’s never happened before. Never.” She emphasizes the last word as if it’ll help smooth over his ‘pristine’ image. “He didn’t mean to. Plus, I already broke it off. I’m never going back to–”

“That motherfucker put his hands on you and you’re defending him?” I ask incredulously.

“I’m not defending him. I just . . . I just want to forget about it.”

Well, I don’t! I won’t!

My ears ring, even as I try to control my voice. “I’m going to get your stuff.”

“Wh-what? You . . . you can’t. No, I’ll go there later–”

“You most certainly will not,” I grit out. “I’m going over there right now–”

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