She nodded. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.” I could tell by the look in her eyes that she meant what she said. She looked down at him again, nearly snarling.

“We’d better go,” I said, motioning to Trenton.

“What the hell?” Coby said, stepping out from the dark hallway into the living room. He was wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else. His eyes were heavy and tired.

“Coby,” I said, reaching out to him. “Listen to me. It wasn’t Trent’s fault.”

“I heard,” Coby said, frowning. “He really attacked you?”

I nodded. “He’s drunk.”

Coby looked up at Mom. “What are you going to do?”

“What?” she said. “What do you mean?”

“He attacked Camille. He’s a grown f**king man, and he attacked your twenty-two-year-old daughter. What the f**k are you going to do about it?”

“Coby,” I warned.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re going to threaten him to leave, and then stay. Like you always do.”

“I don’t know this time,” Mom said. She looked down at him, watched him for a while, and then hit him with the pillow again. “Stupid!” she said, her voice cracking.

“Coby, please don’t say anything,” I begged. “We don’t need a Maddox-versus-Camlin situation on top of this.”

Coby glared at Trenton, and then nodded at me. “I owe you one.”

I sighed. “Thank you.”

Trenton drove us to his dad’s house, pulled into the drive, and left the Smurf running. “Christ, Cami. I still can’t believe I hit your dad. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said, covering my eyes with my hand. The humiliation was almost too much to bear.

“We’re having Thanksgiving at our house this year. I mean, we have it every year, but we’re actually cooking. A real turkey. Dressing. Dessert. The works. You should come.” I broke down, then, and Trenton pulled me into his arms.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes, opening the door. “I have to go to work.” I got out, and Trenton did, too, leaving the driver’s-side door open. He pulled me into his arms to ward off the cold.

“You should call in. Stay here with me and Dad. We’ll watch old westerns. It’ll be the most boring night of your life.”

I shook my head. “I need to work. I need to be busy.”

Trenton nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He cupped each side of my face, kissing my forehead.

I pulled away from him. “You can’t come tonight. Just in case my brothers find out what happened.”

Trenton laughed once. “I’m not afraid of your brothers. Not even all three of them at the same time.”

“Trent, they’re my family. They can be ass**les, but they’re all I’ve got. I don’t want them to get hurt any more than I want you to.”

Trenton hugged me, this time squeezing me tight. “They’re not all you’ve got. Not anymore.”

I buried my face in his chest.

He kissed the top of my hair. “Besides, that’s one thing you don’t mess with.”

“What?” I asked, pressing my cheek against his chest.

“Family.”

I swallowed hard, and then rose up on the balls of my feet, pressing my lips against his. “I have to go.” I hopped up into the driver’s side of the Smurf and slammed the door.

Trenton waited for me to roll down the window before he responded. “Fine. I’ll stay home tonight. But I’m callin’ Kody so he can keep an eye on you.”

“Please don’t tell him what happened,” I pleaded.

“I won’t. I know he’ll tell Raegan, and she’ll tell Hank, and then your brothers will find out.”

“Exactly,” I said, appreciating that someone else saw how protective Hank was of me. “See you later.”

“Is it all right if I come by after you get home?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Can you be there when I get home?”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be in Dad’s truck.”

Trenton stood in the yard, watching me back out of the driveway. I drove to the Red, and was thankful that it was the busiest Sunday night we’d seen in a while. Freezing temperatures were a deterrent to tattoos, but clearly not to liquor, flirting, and dancing. The girls still wore sleeveless club tanks and dresses, and I shook my head at every woman who walked in shivering. I worked my ass off, slinging beers and mixing cocktails, which was a nice change from a long day at Skin Deep, and then went home. As promised, Trenton was sitting in Jim’s bronze pickup next to my parking spot.

He walked me inside, and helped me clean up the mess we’d left when we carried my dad out to the Jeep. The pieces of the lamp jingled and clattered as we dumped them into the trash can. Trenton propped the end table back onto its broken legs.

“I’ll fix that tomorrow.”

I nodded, and then retreated to my room. Trenton waited in my bed while I washed my face and brushed my teeth. When I crawled under the covers next to him, he pulled me against his bare skin. He had undressed down to his boxers, and had only been in my bed for less than five minutes, but the sheets were already warm. I shivered against him, and he squeezed me tighter.

After a few minutes of silence, Trenton sighed. “I’ve been thinking about dinner tomorrow night. I think we should wait a little while. It just seems like . . . I don’t know. I feel like we should wait.”

I nodded. I didn’t want our first date to be weighed down with thoughts of the earlier events of that day, either.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and tired. “Those drawings on the walls. Are they yours?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“They’re good. Why don’t you draw me something?”

“I don’t really do that anymore.”

“You should start. You have my art on your walls,” he said, nodding to a couple of framed drawings. One was a penciled sketch of my hands, one lying on top of the other, my fingers displaying my first tattoo, the other was a charcoal of an emaciated girl holding a skull that I had to have when he’d finished. “I’d like to have some of your originals.”

“Maybe,” I said, settling against the pillow.

Neither of us had much to say after that. Trenton’s breathing evened out, and I fell asleep with my cheek against his chest, rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Every night for a week and a half, Jim’s truck was a fixture in various parking spaces outside my apartment. Though I should have been worrying about my brothers coming over to pester me, or even fearing that my father would come back, I had never felt so safe. Once the Intrepid was fixed, Trenton began coming to the Red at close and walking me to my Jeep.

In the early morning hours of Thanksgiving, I was lying with my back to Trenton, and he was running his fingers softly up and down my arm.

I sniffed, and wiped a tear that was getting ready to fall from the tip of my nose. Dad was still living at the house. Those of us who knew about what had happened decided to keep it from the rest of the boys, and to keep the peace at least until after the holidays, I would celebrate elsewhere.

“I’m sorry you’re upset. I wish there were something I could do,” Trenton said.