The moment Gwh caught sight of the dagger, her legs gave out and she copsed in a faint.
Fortunately, Hawthorne was quick enough to catch her. Even before Bill Crawford had a chance to brandish the de, Hawthorne had already seized his wrist, wrestled the weapon from his grip, and driven it straight into the wall behind Bill''s ear. The force of the blow was so great that only half the handle was left protruding.
Bill Crawford, who had been reeking of whiskey and barely aware of his surroundings, sobered up in an instant.
Someone shouted for security, and the restaurant manager hurried over, rmed by themotion. Seeing the scene, he immediately called his staff to step in.
"Mr. Everhart-"
Bill Crawford stood there, stunned and speechless. He''d only meant to save a shred of dignity, not to actually hurt anyone. Now, seeing Gwh lying unconscious, remorse broke through his bravado. "I didn''t touch her. Gwyn-"
Bill''s feelings for Gwh were never truly malicious—just the stubborn pride and possessiveness of a man who''d lost control.
"Escort Mr. Crawford out," the manager ordered. "He''s brandished a weapon and threatened someone. Let the authorities sort this out."
Hawthorne gently scooped Gwh into his arms and carried her outside. Hans fell in step beside him, already on the phone dealing with Bill Crawford''s mess. The rest of the gaming department, who had witnessed their boss carry Gwh out, were stunned sober by the spectacle.
Had they seen it right? Was it just their imagination? Mr. Everhart himself had carried Gwh away.
Bill Crawford was soon escorted out by the police. As he was led away, he couldn''t help but nce back, watching as Hawthorne ced Gwh in the car, guilt written all over his face.
"How''s Gwh?" he managed to ask as Hans approached him.
Hans rolled his wrist, thennded a punch squarely on Bill''s face. As Bill clutched his bleeding nose, Hans leaned in and said, "Mr. Everhart sends his regards on behalf of Miss Langford."
The officers holding Bill averted their eyes, pretending not to notice a thing. Blood trickled between Bill''s fingers as he red at Hans. "You''ll pay for this." Hans snorted. "Good luck with that. Maybe try saying it again when you''re out.” Gwh was rushed to the hospital. All night long, Hawthorne sat by her side, watching helplessly as she was tormented by nightmares.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she murmured deliriously.
"No, don''t hurt Mommy. Don''t hurt Daddy. Violet, please, don''t="
Her cries were soft, like a frightened kitten. No matter how gently Hawthorne called her name, he couldn''t pull her from the nightmare.
"Is there anything that can ease her pain?" he asked the doctor.
Hawthorne had only intended to bring Gwh in for a quick checkup and leave her in the care of a nurse, but seeing her like this, he realized things were far worse than he''d thought.
The doctor could only offer a helpless shake of the head. "Mr.
Everhart, we''re ER physicians. Miss Langford''s symptoms appear to be psychological in nature. We''d
rmend a consult with our mental health specialists."
The answer was blunt. Such persistent nightmares, and her inability to wake from them, pointed to a deeper trauma. Whether this was a one-time episode or O something chronic, they couldn''t say. s?novel
"I understand," Hawthorne replied quietly.
He sat at her bedside. Suddenly, Gwh reached out in her sleep and mped onto his arm.
"Daddy, Mommy, I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to. I really didn''t mean to."
Again and again, she repeated the words, "I''m sorry." Hawthorne gently wiped the sweat from her brow and patted her cheek, trying tofort her.
Her face, usually so vibrant and beautiful, had turned ghostly pale. Even her delicate eyebrows were drawn tight in distress; her whole body trembled.
Hawthorne held her hand, refusing to let go.
"Daddy, I''m sorry. It''s all my fault."
She kept repeating it, lost in her nightmare. Hawthorne leaned closer, softly stroking her hair,forting her as if she were a frightened child.