I wrap my fingers around his shoulder and squeeze, shaking him lightly. “It’s okay. You’re fine. You’re home. It’s okay.”
Still, he doesn’t wake up.
One of his flying fists catches me in the breast, and the stabbing pain returns.
I scream out.
Losing my hold on Duggan, he falls to our side. A hand locks on my throat as Ambrose’s eyes snap open, pupils dilated with the same level of fright I feel as he slams me back against the bed.
“Ambrose,” I choke out his name, clawing at his hands.
A dozen little scratches appear on his tanned skin, and his fingers loosen but tremble at my throat, constantly tapping at the pain there.
“Ambrose.” My stuttering breaths distort his name.
Staring down at his fingers, nostrils flaring and eyes wide, he peels them away. They sink down my shoulders, his grip tightening and hoisting me from the bed.
Taking me to his chest, he cradles me there, and I unintentionally sob.
Tonight, has been so hard.
My hand moves up my body and cups my breast, where the pain from his punch awoke all my other pains for them to dwell together.
Smoothing my hair back and seeing the tears on my face, his own drip from his eyes, streaking the white paint he didn’t wash off for bed.
I’m so sorry,he mouths.
Continuing to touch me, gentle fingers wipe my tears away. His other hand puts Duggan on my lap while I sit in his. My fingers instantly move to the tie that comforts me.
A tear falls from my top lip, but Ambrose is too slow to catch that one. His thumbpad drags over my mouth so slowly while my eyes stay on his.
I hurt you. I’m sorry. I thought—I thought…
“I know what you thought. You thought he was here.” I nod, gazing up at him.
I hurt you.
“I’m okay. And you’re okay. I know you’re trying to deal with our past, in your own way, but it’s okay if you need some help.”
His head bobs, and he holds me tighter.
The feeling of claustrophobia I usually get when someone invades my personal space doesn’t come.
I feel safe for the first time in weeks.
Still, staring up at him, despite the lost look in his eyes, I know he would never intentionally hurt me.
And it only confuses me more.
CHAPTER 47
Ambrose—age nine
My nose feels colder without Dollie’s pressed against it. It twitches, and I can feel she’s gone before I even open my eyes. But crazily, I still expect her red, puffy cheeks to be in my view. I still expect her tiny arms to be banded around my stiff body, holding in all my trauma like she has done each night.
A tear rolls the second I see she isn’t there to hold that trauma. I don’t even feel her nearby. A headache forms as I push myself up too fast.
Heavy clown shoes pad the stairs, making each step creak. Spinning so fast, I fall from the dresser and into the filthy freezing water.
