Danny halts his pacing, and moves to stand directly across from me. “I’m gonna ask you somethin,’ and I want you to be straight with me.”
Hattie flattens her hands on the island, leaning forward. “Danny.”
He looks over at her. “No, I’m askin.’ She’s our niece, and if I have to go handle some asshole in Kentucky for puttin’ his hands on her, I’m doin’ it.”
“Oh, no. He didn’t . . . he never hit me.” I look between the two of them, Hattie’s eyes regarding me with suspicion. She doesn’t believe me, and by the rough exhale coming from Danny, I’m doubting he does either.
“Rocco never touched me unless I let him,” I admit, dropping my head to avoid the judgment in their eyes. “Our relationship, or whatever it was, it was more about me needing him for things, and him knowing I needed him. He talked down to me a lot, but he never hit me.” I look at Hattie, then at Danny. “Never. I swear.”
“He sounds like a real charmer,” Hattie says through a tight jaw. “So, he verbally abused you? Is that what you’re saying?”
I shrug, and Danny pounds his fist on the island, startling Hattie and myself.
“I need a goddamn smoke.”
“No, you don’t.” Hattie stands and walks around the island, placing a hand to his chest. “Beth is fine. She’s here, with us. She’s not with that man anymore.”
“He won’t come after you?” Danny asks me, his chest heaving with each breath he takes.
I shake my head, adamantly. “No. I know him. He’d never do that.”
“You’re sure? ‘Cause if you think you’re in danger, I need to know about it.”
“I’m sure,” I vow, my voice steady. “Rocco would never come after me. I promise, Uncle Danny. I would never bring danger here. If I thought he’d do something, I’d leave.”
“You need to get that thought outta your head, ‘cause you’re not goin’ anywhere,” he corrects me, his tone final and sounding how I imagine a father would sound, talking to his daughter.
He grabs the plate of neglected pancakes and sticks them into the microwave, hitting a few buttons.
I look over at Hattie, waiting for her to soften his words somehow with her own version of them, but the only thing she gives me is a limp shrug.
You’re on your own, darlin.’
The microwave beeps, and he grabs the plate of pancakes and sets them back down in front of me. He flips open the cap on the syrup, holds it over the top of the tall stack, and waits for me to nod before he begins to pour.
“If you think that asshole is plannin’ on doin’ somethin,’ you tell me. I got a couple cop buddies I can call up.” He flips the cap closed and sets the bottle down, his other hand sliding the knife and fork in front of me. “You hear me, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I answer, avoiding his eyes like a child who’s just been scolded.
“Any man who talks down to a woman, who puts his hands on her or does anything to make her feel inferior to him, ain’t a man in my book.”
I lift my head, meeting his gaze that has gentled considerably.
“I’ll have no problem teachin’ him some manners. You just let me know.” He holds his hand out to me, and the second I place mine in his, he slides his grip to the back of my hand and presses my palm against the silverware. “Eat. No more starvin’ for you.”
I love this man.
Danny walks over to Hattie and kisses her temple. “I’ll see ya in a few hours, babe.”
“Hold off the crazies for me.”
Danny gives me a rough pat on my head before he exits the kitchen, heading in the direction of the front door.
After fixing the mess he just made of my hair, I cut into the top two pancakes and shove a massive bite in my mouth. Hattie moves to stand across from me.
“Good?” she asks through a proud smile, as if she already knows the answer.
Sweet Mother of Bisquick.
I close my eyes through a moan as the buttermilk deliciousness bursts against my tongue. “Mm mmm. Sooo, so good,” I say through my mouthful, wiping the back of my hand across my chin when I feel the syrup running down my face.
I don’t care in the least that I probably look like a savage right now as I open my eyes and shovel another huge bite into my mouth. I’ve never been a modest eater. Besides, I think the greatest compliment you can give someone who cooked for you is showing them just how much you’re enjoying their food. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Enjoying the hell out of my food.
I animatedly chew my mouthful as Hattie watches me, amused grin in place.