Thicker? Wider? He’d been so… distracted. He was a piece of shit. How did he not see this?

“Mia, baby. I didn’t—”

“You wouldn’t see them if you weren’t looking. They’re old. But nowhere near forgotten.”

Deep pools teemed on the edge of her bottom eyelids, threatening a flash flood. They never fell, forced back by what could only be a will made of steel.

“Mia…” What could he possibly offer this moment? He hated himself for not having a fucking hot spring of extraordinary things to say. For not knowing how to take away the pain she must’ve been feeling.

“My mother drank like a fish. Or a sailor. Or whatever the worse of the two is. She chased her liquor with her pills. Pint-sized pills. Big-dog pills. Pink and blue. Yellow and white. Square and round and rectangle. She loved variety.”

There were the walls. The sarcasm. It all made sense.

“She hurt you?” he asked but knew it didn’t matter what her response was. Someone hurt her, someone who should have to pay in gigantic proportions.

“Oh, no. She never hurt me. She just focused on laundry, or she’d watch television. Though sometimes, on the days I thought she couldn’t love me any less, she’d go for a walk. Come to think of it, that hurt more than any stupid cut.”

How could a mother hurt her baby? He’d never understand it. He’d spent his life fixing wrongs others couldn’t handle themselves. Mia was trying to keep it together in front of him. It shouldn’t have been this way. She shouldn’t have these memories and scars.

“She hurt you in my book.”

“There’s always that.”

“Your father? He’s the one who hurt you?”

She coughed out an arctic chuckle, more theatrical than comical. “You mean The Colonel? Yes, he was the one. He liked to inflict pain with whatever he could find. With whatever might entertain him, distract him, or pass the time in his miserable existence.”

Winters would love to kill the bastard. But not before he ensured the man relived each old wound he gave Mia. Winters channeled all his rage into his fists and tried to hide them in the pockets of his pants. Ripping shit off walls wasn’t going to help Mia now. Napalming an area a mile wide wouldn’t help either.

He had to listen. Had to figure out what might help. A rampage would only be self-serving. He’d do it later and rain fire from the sky.

“Honey—” His chest felt tight.

“Don’t honey me. Or baby. Or doll. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

He tugged at his collar. “They alive?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

“All of your walls make sense.” He hugged her. Not with the intention of crushing her breasts against him, or wrapping her body onto his, but with the sole desire to console her, wipe away all the hurt and pain.