I pull out my phone and call him a few times, but he doesn’t answer. Not in the right mental state to push, I decide to go somewhere I feel safe. The garage. I put my car into drive, swipe my tears and drive slowly the entire way over there. It’s dark and quiet when I get in, so I unlock the door and slip inside. There’s nowhere for me to sleep, but there’s a shower and a toilet, and I can find some old towels to lie on until I can get hold of someone. I can’t go home, even though I’m so worried about what Dad will do if I’m not there. How sad is that? I’m worried about him when he threw a damned bottle at my head.

I decide to send Lenny a text, coming up with some lie about why I can’t go home. He’ll arrive and probably just think Dad’s drunk again and help him to bed. He doesn’t know Dad went to the hospital today. I don’t want him to know it, either. He doesn’t deserve that extra stress.

Q—Hey Len. I have to work extra late tonight, so is there any chance you can check on Dad, make sure he’s home and in bed?

He replies a minute later.

L—Sure sweetheart.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and then let myself into the office. I’m trying not to think of what happened, because every time I do, it hurts like hell. I just need to focus and figure out what I’m going to do next. First, I need to check my foot and make sure it’s not stitches-worthy. I hop over to the cabinets and I pull out the first-aid kit, then I flick on a light.

I turn my foot and scrunch my nose up. It’s not deep, thank god, but it’s long. Running nearly half the length of my foot. I get to work putting strips on it to hold the skin together, and then I patch it up. Once I’m done with that, I walk into the bathroom and look at my face. My temple is swelling and the beginning of a bruise is forming. How the hell will I explain that one away?

I shower with my foot poking out, and then I find one of Tazen’s work shirts on the shelves. I pull it on and then make a bed on the floor with towels, a sheet and my purse as a pillow. It’s horrible and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. I lie down and try Tazen once more, but he still doesn’t answer. I’ll stay here until he does. As I wind down, my thoughts start invading. My throat gets tight and more tears spring to my eyes as I relive what went down.

My dad tried to hurt me.

My dad … who was once my hero.

Another sob escapes and I curl into a ball. I stay that way until I cry myself to sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

My phone rings, jerking me out of a restless sleep. I reach out groggily and see it’s Tazen. My heart lurches as I quickly answer it, putting it to my ear. I need him right now. I need him so badly it hurts. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. It seems stupid, that up until this point I’ve not spent time with him in his home. If I did, I would have gone straight to him. I’m keeping it together well, right up until I hear his low, husky voice.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “How’re you doing?”

I lose it.

“Tazen,” I croak.

“Quinn?” he says, his voice alert now. “What’s wrong?”

“I … Tazen, I’m hurt. I need you. I … I need you.”

“Are you in pain? Shit, Quinn where are you?”

“I’m…” I swallow. “At the garage.”

“You tried to call me, fuck, angel, I didn’t hear it.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Just come, please.”

“I’m coming, sit tight.”

I hang up and push myself into a sitting position. I tuck my legs up to my chest and rest my chin on my knees as I wait. I can’t stop the thoughts invading my mind, as I think about everything that’s happened. I don’t know if I can go back and see Dad, I don’t know if I can live with him anymore. What’s going to happen next time? He could hurt me severely, or worse, kill me. If that bottle had hit the wrong spot … God. My chest burns at the memory of him throwing it at me, and even though I have cried for hours, I have to fight back more tears now. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know who to turn to.

As promised, Tazen is running through the garage door only ten minutes later. I push to my feet and walk over, stopping in front of him. As soon as he sees me, rage washes through his face and he hisses, “Who did that to you?”

My bottom lip trembles and his face softens. He steps in closer, wraps his arms around me and kicks the door closed behind him. He lifts me into his arms and walks into the office, sitting down on a chair, with me in his lap.

“Talk to me.”

“Th-th-th-there were problems with Dad last night.”

His entire body turns to stone.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Fucking tell me he did not do that to your face.”

I press my cheek against his chest, and say nothing.

“Angel,” he says through gritted teeth. “Did your father do that to you?”

“He was angry about having no alcohol. He had a headache and…”

“Shit,” he growls, cutting me off. “Fucking shit.”

“He … he’s never … he’s never done something like that before.”

“You need to tell me what he did.”

I curl my fingers into his shirt and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

“When we came home, he woke up and demanded alcohol. I thought I’d thrown it all away, but he had some whiskey stashed in his room. I tried to stop him and he said some”—my voice hitches—“horrible things. Then he just lifted his bottle and threw it at my head. It smashed all over the floor and I stepped on it…”

“What?” Tazen whispers, his voice so hoarse it’s no longer working.

“It’s fine, I’m…”

“Show me.”

He moves me without warning and twists, putting me down onto the desk. He kneels down, taking my foot. I don’t bother protesting as he unwraps it and stares down at the wound. His jaw tics and he stares blankly at it for so long, I begin to panic. His thumb gently runs over the ugly slice and then he wraps it back up before standing abruptly.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Tazen,” I cry, panic rising in my chest.

He stares at me, and there’s fire in his brown eyes. “I said,” he grinds out, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Please,” I beg. “Don’t hurt him. He’s sick.”

“He hurt his child, he threw a bottle at her head, then she sliced her foot open on its broken pieces. He might be sick, but he will not get away with violence.”

“Tazen,” I cry, standing on wobbly legs. “He’s my dad, he’s all I have. Don’t hurt him.”

He stares me right in the eyes, but his expression has softened slightly. “I won’t hurt him, Quinn, I would never do that to you, but this has to end.”

I open my mouth to protest but he steps forward, curling his fingers around the back of my head. He brings me close so our foreheads are touching. “Trust me, angel.”

I nod and close my eyes. He pulls back and kisses my forehead, before disappearing out the door. I hobble back to the chair and sit down, rubbing my stomach to break down the nerves swelling there. I wait like that for what seems like hours, maybe it is, my legs go numb and I’m sure I only breathe enough air to keep me conscious, because the rest of the time I hold my breath.