For her.

He was trying not to scare her.

“Please,” she whispered.

He gave a curt nod, although his face was still granite. There was no sign of the affable Lincoln anywhere, nor the sad version.

This was alpha Lincoln—angry, stubborn, and struggling mightily for self-control.

“He’s not worth it,” she said quietly.

“No, but you are,” he said, meeting her eyes.

She squeezed his hand in gratitude then released it, but not before Gary witnessed the interlude and decided to make things worse for himself by opening his idiotic mouth.

“This is him, isn’t it?” Gary said, pushing awkwardly to his feet. “This is the douchebag Brian saw you with at the bar the other night, wearing a slutty dress, conducting yourself like a damned whore for everyone to see—”

“Sorry, Wallflower,” Lincoln muttered. “Has to be done.”

His fist collided with Gary’s face once more, but this time he grabbed her ex-husband’s shirt, hauling him forward when he would have reeled backward.

Lincoln dragged Gary over to his car. Gary was thick, but Lincoln was stronger, and for the first time, Daisy saw her ex-husband as he actually was:

Weak.

Weak in spirit, character, and, at the moment, weaker physically.

She crossed her arms over her waist as she watched Lincoln shove Gary against the car door, a forearm pressed against his throat.

Daisy couldn’t hear the words, but the intent was clear, both from the furious but resigned expression on Gary’s face and the cool, controlled rage on Lincoln’s.

She felt a soft brush against her ankles, and she knelt to pick up Kiwi. The front door of the guesthouse was open, telling her that Lincoln had come over in a hurry.

Daisy kissed the top of the dog’s head, brushing her cheek against the sweet little purple bow as she watched Gary get into his car.

Gary didn’t look at her. Not once as he put the car in reverse and made his way back down the long tree-lined driveway that he himself had designed.

That’s when she knew—it was over. Gary was done with her, and she with him, and he wouldn’t be coming back. It had taken her a long time to understand Gary. To understand that he was a bully, but the chickenshit kind.

He liked being king of the roost too much to ever come back to where he’d been bested.

Daisy hated Gary, but she also knew him. And she knew that in his messed-up mind, she’d now been tainted by Lincoln’s strength. Gary wouldn’t look at her and see a woman he could best; he’d look at her and remember the way Lincoln had pinned him to that car like a rag doll.

Lincoln stood perfectly still, watching until Gary’s BMW disappeared from view before turning toward her. Neither of them moved as their eyes caught and held, but she felt the intensity of his gaze.

She meant to go to him. To tell him thank you. But when she tried to step forward, her knees felt wobbly, so instead she took a step backward, shakily lowering herself to the step of the front porch.

He was beside her in an instant, sitting close but not too close, as though instinctively knowing she couldn’t handle physical contact at the moment.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good—no,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay. I hate him. I hate myself when I’m near him, I hate that I cowered.”

She lowered her head, resting her forehead along Kiwi’s back, as the little dog sat curled protectively in her lap.

Daisy felt Lincoln shift closer, near enough to comfort, not so close as to crowd. “You know I’m the last person to urge someone to talk about it before they’re ready,” he said quietly. “But Daisy. You’re ready.”

She nodded against the dog’s fur, realizing that she was crying. Kiwi squirmed, maneuvering so that she could lick at Daisy’s damp cheek, and Daisy smiled in spite of herself.

“It only happened a few times,” she said, lifting her head and wiping at her tears. “I’m not saying that makes it any better, but sometimes I think it’s not the couple times he hit me that did the most damage, so much as the nonstop verbal abuse. You know, that idea that outside bruises heal, but the ones inside…those stick with you.”

Kiwi placed her front paws on Daisy’s chest and licked her chin, offering her own special kind of comfort.

“And I have talked to someone,” Daisy said. “I went to a therapist three times a week after we separated, and I owe her everything. I think she’s the only reason I’m not entirely broken right now. Just a little bit.”

“You’re not broken,” Lincoln said quietly. “Someone that weak could never break someone so strong.”

“Almost, though,” she said, turning her face toward his stark profile. “He almost did. I wanted so badly to be a good wife, a good companion. Not in the ‘little woman’ kind of way. Or maybe that way, I don’t even know. I just know that I was so happy, and I wanted him to be happy. So I wanted to be perfect.”

She adjusted Kiwi’s bow and pressed on. “We used to live in a swanky condo downtown, and he didn’t want me to work. I guess maybe in hindsight that was a warning sign but instead I threw myself into building the perfect home. Everything was always clean; the meals I cooked were fancy, took me hours. He was mostly pleased. It was easier there. The place was small, only a couple rooms to keep spotless. But then we moved here, and there was so much more to do. I had a cleaning service come once a week, but he was always angry about something. The clutter in the garage, or the grocery bag I hadn’t unloaded by the time he’d gotten home. The first time he hit me was when I hadn’t read his mind and gotten more of the flavored sparkling water he wanted. I thought he was joking when he got mad about it. I laughed, told him I’d get more tomorrow, and he just…lost it.”