Chapter Fifty Three

TW - violence

Montgomery's POV: [short]

Wednesday;

I watched Valentina climb into her car, her expression unreadable as she backed out of the parking lot. My eyes lingered on the empty spot she left behind, a hollow ache settling in my chest. I let out a frustrated sigh. What else could I do? How many times would I have to try, only to have her slip further away?

Turning sharply on my heel, I headed to my own car and slid inside, gripping the steering wheel. A drink sounded essential right now. Anything to take the edge off. The engine roared to life, and I drove, barely noticing the roads or the passing scenery. My thoughts were fixed on her—Valentina, with her radiant smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. How did things get so twisted between us?

I know I messed up. Badly. I shouldn't have humiliated her in front of the whole class. The memory of it makes me wince even now. I was so... petty, so insecure. The worst part was letting my frustration get the best of me. But I'm not sure I can even explain to her why I lashed out. That day in the hospital, when I broke down in front of her—it was like a crack opened in my armor. I hated her seeing me like that. Weakness makes me feel so small, so powerless. But she looked at me with such gentleness that day, a glimpse of warmth I haven't felt in years.

I've become hard, I know that. Cold, even. But it wasn't always like this. I used to care more, to trust more. When my father died, a part of me went with him, and whatever was left seemed to wither when my mother fell ill. It was like life was clawing pieces out of me, one loss after another. And then there was Carol.

God, Carol. She wasn't supposed to be the one to break me. But finding out she cheated—twice—felt like betrayal in its cruelest form. I should have walked away, but my mother adores her. She lit up every time Carol was around, and I... I just couldn't be the one to take that from her. I'd rather sacrifice my own happiness than see her heart break.

But then there's Valentina. Damn it all, I've fallen so hard for her that it scares me. She's this whirlwind of warmth and light that somehow managed to break through my armor, layer by layer. How is she still around after everything? I've been cold, rude—even cruel. Yet she stayed. She's like an addiction, something I crave but don't deserve. I keep pushing her away, but there's something about her that pulls me back, like she's a sickness I don't want to recover from.

Pulling into my garage, I killed the engine and sat in the silence for a moment, trying to gather myself. The scent of paint and metal filled the space, grounding me before I finally stepped out, the familiar creak of the garage door echoing as I walked into the house. I barely had a second to exhale before I felt a wet nose nudging my hand.

"Tuna," I murmured, a small smile breaking through as I looked down at my loyal border collie. "Hey, baby," I cooed, bending down to rub behind his ears. He nuzzled against me, tail wagging enthusiastically, his eyes darting towards the spot where we kept his running leash. Ever hopeful.

"Not tonight, buddy," I sighed, ruffling his fur apologetically as he tilted his head in disappointment. I gave him a final scratch behind his ears and made my way to the kitchen. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, the stillness settling heavily around me. I poured myself a glass of wine, the red liquid catching the dim kitchen light, and took a sip, feeling the warmth spread slowly through me.

There's a reason I haven't been taking Tuna out these past few days. Since Friday night, I've been haunting that bar, lingering until closing, waiting for one particular man to walk through those doors—the one who dared lay a hand on Valentina.

If I had known what he did, I would've been on him in a second, taking him down without a second thought. But I didn't know. I was sitting across the table, lost in conversation with Victoria, when a shout rang out. I turned just in time to see Valentina's friend—Lea, I think—slam a beer bottle over that man's head. By the time I pieced together what had happened, it was too late. He'd stormed off, and Valentina had already left with her friend. Later, when I asked a couple seated nearby, they filled in the gaps, the man had slapped her.

I wanted to rip him apart. The thought of him just walking away after hurting her had my blood boiling. Ever since that night, I've been going back to that bar, night after night, hoping he'd show up again, hoping I'd get the chance to make him pay for what he did.

I feel so damn useless, so infuriatingly helpless. If I'd kept my eyes on her like I usually do, if I hadn't forced myself to look away, maybe I could have stopped him. But no, the one time I let my guard down... this happens.

With a growl of frustration, I finished off my wine in one swift gulp and pushed myself away from the counter. Without a second thought, I headed upstairs, pulling on something a little more comfortable before grabbing my keys and heading out the door. There was only one place I wanted to be tonight—and that was back at the bar, waiting.

I parked my Audi in an empty spot, stepping out and making sure to lock it. Can't be too careful. I had barely taken a few steps when I spotted a man stumbling toward the entrance of the bar. Recognition hit instantly, and I broke into a jog, catching up to him.

"Excuse me," I said, blocking his path.

He squinted at me, eyes glassy and unfocused, before giving a leering smile. "Well, aren't you a sexy thing?" he slurred, reaching a hand toward me. I took a sharp step back, my lip curling in disgust.

"You should pay for what you've done," I said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He grinned, stumbling forward. "The only thing I've done wrong is not having you in my bed right now." His words oozed drunken confidence, and I felt a surge of anger rise in my chest.

"No," I spat, my voice laced with venom. "You hurt someone I care about, and I'm not going to let that slide."

He looked at me, confusion wrinkling his brow. "Who?" he slurred, and I rolled my eyes in disdain.

"Are you mentally disabled? Or has all that alcohol rotted away what little brain cells you had?"

His drunken swagger turned into an angry snarl, and he took a step forward, trying to tower over me. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

I squared my shoulders, meeting his glare with an unflinching stare. "I'm the woman who's about to make you pay for laying a hand on someone I care about."

He blinked, seeming to piece things together. "Is this about my daughter?" His tone had shifted slightly, a weak attempt at defensiveness. "I didn't mean to slap her."

The words struck me cold. My eyes widened, a surge of outrage pulsing through me. "Your daughter?" I snapped, my voice dangerously low. "You hit your own daughter?" My finger jabbed against his chest as I stepped closer, fury seething in every syllable. "What kind of father are you?"

Before I could register what was happening, his fist connected hard with my nose, sending a sharp, burning pain radiating through my face. I stumbled back, clutching my nose, stars dancing in my vision. Is this how Valentina felt when she ran into that pole?

The initial shock turned quickly to fury. I lowered my hand, blood smeared across my fingers, and glared at him. That's it. No one gets away with that. With all the strength I had, I lunged forward, tackling him to the ground.

My fists flew, slamming down onto his face over and over. Every punch sent pain shooting through my knuckles, but I didn't stop. Each hit landed with a sickening thud, his face bloody beneath my fists. This wasn't just for Valentina; it was for every ounce of frustration, every injustice.

Suddenly, he grabbed my shirt with surprising strength and shoved me off. He staggered to his feet, yanking me up by my neck, his breath hot and foul. "Fuck you," he slurred, his bloody mouth spitting in my face.

He flung me back, and I collided with the hood of my car, the metal digging into my back. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I groaned, struggling to get back on my feet. But he was on me before I could recover, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me off the car, sending me rolling across the cold pavement.

Dizzy and desperate, I tried to scramble to my feet, but he was faster—how was he this quick? His hand shot out, grabbing my face and lifting it just as his knee came up, slamming into me. Pain exploded across my face, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I barely had a second to react before his knee struck again, and then one last time before he shoved me down to the ground.

"Stay out of our personal life," he spat, voice thick with venom, before turning and stumbling away into the night, leaving me gasping and battered on the ground.

Groaning, I fought to push myself up, feeling every bruise and scrape burning against the cold night air. My vision blurred for a second, but I steadied myself, gritting my teeth as I locked my gaze on his staggering figure a few steps ahead. With a final surge of adrenaline, I broke into a run, closing the gap and tackling him from behind, sending us both crashing to the ground.

This time, I wasn't holding back. My fists rained down, driven by raw anger. Every punch landed with bone-crushing force, and he groaned, trying in vain to shove me off. But I was done letting him have the upper hand. He twisted and struggled, but I held on, pressing him into the pavement. I was so lost in the fury that I didn't even notice the hands pulling me back until they pried me away.

"Fucking hell, Johanna!" Bradley, the bar owner, grunted, holding me firmly by the shoulders.

I wrenched myself free from his grip, breathing hard. "Don't you dare blame me for this!" I spat, my voice fierce. "He threw the first punch."

Bradley raised a calming hand, nodding. "I know, I know. We saw it all on the security cameras. The cops are on their way."

I glared down at Valentina's father, still sprawled on the ground, gasping. He looked up at me with a mix of fear and anger, blood smearing his face. Taking a step closer, I bent down, leaning so close he could see the fury in my eyes. "If you ever touch—no," I growled, correcting myself, "if you even so much as look at my girl again, I swear to God, I'll kill you."

My voice was dangerously low, cold and final, and he looked away, his face pale.

Bradley rested a steadying hand on my shoulder, his voice soft but firm. "Johanna, calm down," he murmured, trying to reel me back.

I whipped my head to face him, disbelief sparking in my eyes. "Calm down? You want me to calm down?" I practically spat. "He hurt her, Bradley. His own daughter, my girl."

Bradley glanced down at Valentina's father, still sprawled on the ground, blood streaking his face and clothes. "And you've gotten your revenge," he said gently, nodding at the pathetic figure. "But damn, he didn't go easy on you either." He cringed as he looked over my face, swollen and raw.

"How bad is it?" I asked, pressing a tentative hand to my cheek, only to wince as a sharp sting flared under my fingertips.

Bradley gave me a look. "Honestly? You should probably get to a hospital."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "What I need is a damn drink."

A chuckle escaped him, and he gave a quick nod toward the bar. "Well, in that case, drinks are on the house." He smirked, adding with a curious glance, "So... all this? For a girl?"

"Yeah," I sighed, a strange sense of calm settling over me as we made our way inside. "I would've been on him the second he slapped her if I'd known."

Bradley let out a low whistle as he guided me to a stool. "You must really care for her if you'd risk your neck like that."

I shrugged, letting out a bitter laugh. "This? This was nothing," I muttered, staring blankly at the bar in front of me. "I'd burn the whole world down for her and dance in the ashes. But no matter what I do, I just... I can't seem to tell her how I actually feel."

It's true—Valentina makes me flustered, and it pisses me off. No one has ever gotten under my skin like this, not even Carol. With Valentina, it's like she can see past every wall I've put up, cutting through all the layers I use to protect myself.

Not that she knows, of course. I'm a master at hiding emotions; years of practice have made me an expert. But that only makes it worse because deep down, I'm embarrassed. I'm not supposed to feel this way about her, not with everything else in my life, all the complications.

Sighing, I pushed open the door to the bar, feeling eyes shift toward me as I walked in, face bruised and clothes disheveled. I ignored the stares, plopping down onto a bar stool and signaling for a whiskey—neat. I needed it tonight, if just to drown out the frustration rattling in my mind.

I swirled the glass in my hand, staring at the amber liquid. I know what I need to do. I need to pull myself together and show Valentina that she isn't just a teaching assistant to me. She's more—so much more. I care about her, more than I've admitted to anyone, more than I've dared to admit to myself. And I want her to be happy, to feel safe.

No more cold stares, no more of my sharp remarks, or anything that makes her day harder than it already is. I promised her once that I'd become better, for her, and it's time I actually mean it. She deserves to see a version of me that isn't hidden behind walls of bitterness and sarcasm.

I'll reshape myself, every single flawed edge she doesn't like. For her, I'd change everything if it meant that one day, she might actually look at me and see someone worth caring about.