Bobby's POV

Dad and I sat in the restaurant off the highway in Jacksonville, Florida. We returned home from our trip to Virginia, where we visited his parents and brother. I stared out the window as someone parked a 2000 Ducati Monster beside our truck. The woman, I knew the rider was female because she was too curvy to be a male, kicked out the stand and swung her leg gracefully off the bike. I wondered if she studied ballet or gymnastics. It had to be something for her to have such flexibility and gracefulness as she moved her leg.

She removed her helmet, and woah! That was a lot of curly hair. Her gaze met mine. I gave her a friendly smile, letting her know I wouldn't hurt her. The woman shyly smiled and finger waved. Her battered and bruised face appeared as though she got into a fight and lost. Maybe she was escaping an abusive boyfriend or father. Mom was a therapist and dealt with the aftermath of many abused women and children seeking shelter and an escape from their abuser.

Following my gaze, Dad said, "She's too young to be alone." After squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, we watched the girl bravely enter the diner.

"How do you know?" I asked Dad, trying to guess her age.

"The girl doesn't look a day over seventeen," Dad replied. He raised his hand to catch the attention of the waitress. I sensed Dad knew more than he was sharing. Does he know the girl from somewhere?

"Can I get anything for you?" Sally asked, removing her notepad from her apron pocket.

"Whatever that girl wants, add it to my bill," Dad answered, pointing to the girl standing inside the door, looking around for a seat. Sally looked over her shoulder and frowned. There wasn't an empty table available. A man exited the washroom and slid onto the only empty stool. I watched as the girl frowned.

"I don't have a free table or stool at the counter," Sally said, looking upset as the girl rubbed her stomach, obviously starving. The girl hung her head and turned to leave.

To stop the girl from feeling she had to leave, Dad gestured to the seat beside mine and offered, "Bring her here. We have an extra seat."

We waited for Sally to speak to the girl. She nodded and shyly followed behind the waitress and sat beside me. "Thank you," the girl said, her voice shaking from suppressed emotions.

Dad surprised me by removing his wallet from his pocket, and passed it to the girl. "Open it," he ordered her as he did with soldiers under his command. Her face flushed as she followed his instructions.

She took her time searching through everything, smiling when she found a photograph of me with Dad, Mom and my sister, Beca. "You're a veteran," the girl said, peeking at Dad from beneath her lashes. Under her breath, she added, "I knew it." She doesn't touch the money Dad had in his wallet. After ensuring Dad's identification was tucked into the places where she found it, she returned the wallet, watching as Dad put it into his pocket.

"You're safe with us," I said. She smiled and tapped my hand when I averted my attention. Despite the bruises and cuts on her otherwise flawless face, the girl was beautiful.

"I know. It's the only reason I agreed to sit here," she explained, looking into my eyes. "What's your name?" She looked at me expectantly. The air of shyness she held upon walking into the diner was gone. Sitting beside me was a strong, resilient woman.

Clearing my throat, praying my voice wouldn't crack, I replied, "Bobby. Well, Robert, but my dad goes by Rob, and I go by Bobby." I felt my cheeks overheating when my voice cracked as I feared.

Her lip curled into a small smile of amusement, pulling on the crack on her lower lip. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bobby," she said. She glanced at my dad and added, "And you too, Mr. Brown."

"Please call me Rob," Dad said. The girl nodded as though she expected that response.

"I'm St... Michelle," she offered. Her name obviously started with a St, probably Stacey or another common female name. I noticed her broken nails and bruised arms when she removed her leather jacket. Dad growled upon seeing the injuries on her upper arms when she extended a hand to shake his. But she doesn't pull back. I watched in awe as Michelle shook Dad's hand.

"Do you need a safe haven?" Dad asked, his eyebrow quirked as he anticipated an affirmative reply. Her lips trembled, and her hands shook. Whatever caused the injuries was fresh in her mind, and she looked afraid to answer. I touched her hand, silently encouraging her to answer my dad. She drew the strength from deep inside, sat up straight and nodded. "Order whatever and how much you want," Dad said before excusing himself.

"Don't call the cops," Michelle whispered. Her eyes were wide in fear. She moved to grab her backpack and flee. Once Michelle admitted she needed a safe place to stay, Dad would do anything to protect her.

"I'm calling my wife," Dad said, making Michelle gasp and raise her head. Michelle looked into his eyes for several minutes before nodding. She must have sensed Dad was a man of his word.

Dad went outside to call Mom. He waved to get Michelle's attention. I gently touched her arm. She jumped and looked at me. Michelle had the deer in the headlights, fearful stare. "Sorry, Michelle. I didn't mean to frighten you. Dad wants you to look outside," I quietly said.

Michelle looked out the window. Dad pointed to the motorcycle, then the back of his truck. "He's going to let me ride with you two?" Michelle asked when she caught onto the meaning of his gestures.

"Yes. It's easier. You might get lost in Miami traffic," I explained. I don't want to scare her by mentioning the rough, gang-riddled area. Michelle looked exhausted, as though she hadn't slept in days. I couldn't tell if her broken nose or lack of sleep caused the dark circles beneath her eyes. It was likely a combination of the two.

She glanced at Dad and nodded. He tossed the bike in the truck bed as though it weighed nothing. "What happened?" I asked, pointing to her arms. Michelle shook her head and cried.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"I should be the one apologizing. I never meant to make you cry," I said. Michelle shrugged and took a drink of my soda. The waitress arrived and replaced my drink. Sally smiled and took Michelle's order.

"May I have a refill of coke?" she timidly asked, quickly looking at Dad when he entered the diner. Dad nodded his approval. Sally smiled and recorded the order on the notepad. "Um…," Michelle read the menu. "I'll have the trucker breakfast."

"Are you sure you can eat all of that, dear?" Sally asked. "It's a lot of food."

"Yes, Miss Sally. I'm starving," Michelle replied as her stomach let out its roar of displeasure for being empty. Sally smiled and took the order to the kitchen.

Dad chuckled, "When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"Two days ago, Sir," Michelle replied.

"None of that 'sir' business, young lady. I'm Rob," Dad reminded her.

"I had lunch with my grandparents two days ago," Michelle answered, providing more information.

"Now, will your grandparents be searching for you?" Dad asked, quirking a brow.

Michelle shrugged before nodding. "I should call them," she mumbled. A hiss escaped Michelle's lips as she turned to remove her phone from her purse. I wondered if she had bruised ribs. Dad raised a brow and patiently waited for Michelle to contact her family.

"Hi, Grandma." She caught my dad's eyes. "Yes, I'm safe." Michelle's slight smile indicated she loved her grandmother. Her face betrayed her emotions, and I was relieved that Michelle's grandparents had not caused the injuries.

"Let me have the phone," Dad ordered, using his drill sergeant voice. Michelle raised a finger, indicating she would honour his request once she completed her part of the call to reassure her grandparents about her safety.

"Hang on, Grandma. Can you put Grandpa on the phone?" Michelle waited a few seconds before saying, "Hey, Grandpa. I'm safe. Someone wants to talk to you." Tears swam in Michelle's eyes as she passed the phone to my dad. She feared Dad would send her home after assuring her she was coming home with us.

"Sir," Dad answered. He listened as someone talked on the other end. A flash of anger flared in Dad's eyes before disappearing behind his blank stare. "I'll keep her safe, Sir." Dad paused for a few minutes. "Master Sergeant with the US Army, Sir." Dad chuckled and provided Michelle's grandfather with more information, "I have a fifteen-year-old daughter and a sixteen-year-old son. He's seventeen at the end of August." Dad winked at Michelle. I wondered if the man told Dad Michelle's real name. "Said her name was Michelle Pardo," Dad laughed. "Yes, Sir. I'll register her for school using Michelle Estephania Pardo. Thank you, Sir."

Dad returned the phone. He motioned for her to put it up to her ear. "Hello?" She smiled. "Thank you, Grandpa. Yes, I'll check in once a week. Oh. How do I do that?" Michelle gasped and looked at my dad. He nodded, making her blush. "Wow. Yes, Grandpa. I'll talk to a professional. I love you. Bye," Michelle said and hung up.

The waitress arrived with Michelle's food. "Let me know if I can get you anything else," Gloria said. Sally must be on her break.

Michelle started eating, moaning as she filled her mouth with the juicy steak. I watched in awe as she ate everything except the sausage she offered me. Dad laughed, "Seeing a girl with a healthy appetite is nice."

"Beca eats like a bird," I joked.

"I enjoy eating," Michelle said. "Thank you for lunch."

"No problem, my dear. I'm glad you had enough to eat. Bobby's mother, Martha, is excited to meet you. So is Beca," Dad replied. "I hope you don't mind sharing a room."

"I've never shared before, but I don't mind," Michelle said. Under her breath, she added, "I hope she's not a raving bitch like Saint Valerie." I wondered if Michelle realized she had given away intel. Groaning, Michelle tried to slip the backpack over her shoulders.

"Let me carry that for you," I offered. Michelle chewed on her bottom lip, carefully avoiding where it had split. I could see her thoughts displayed on her face. She was wary of handing over the backpack. Deciding that she could trust me, Michelle handed me the bag.

I sat on the bench seat beside Dad, leaving Michelle to sit closest to the door. She groaned and gasped as she stepped on the runner to climb inside. "You okay, Mitch?" Dad asked.

Michelle smiled, "Yes. I'm just a little sore. It should get better in a few days." Dad assessed Michelle but didn't question her further. I was too curious to know how she got injured. "Thanks," Michelle whispered when I placed the backpack on her lap.

She stared out the window, lost in thought, as Dad drove the rest of the way home. The drive would take just over five hours if we don't get stuck in traffic. Two hours into the trip, Michelle fell asleep. Her head fell to my shoulder. I used her black leather jacket to make a pillow to protect her face. She turned to cuddle into my side. The seatbelt tugged on her shoulder, but it seemingly didn't bother her.

Dad turned on the radio, playing relaxing music to entice Michelle to sleep. She was exhausted and probably sleep-deprived since she left her grandparents over a day ago. I refused to think she ran away from home longer than two days ago when she last shared a meal with her grandparents. Michelle had no reason to mislead Dad. After all, Dad spoke to Michelle's grandfather, who likely shared when she left home and the extent of her injuries. I wanted to know, but it really wasn't my business. Michelle should tell me if she wanted me to know.

With the quiet music playing, Michelle peacefully slept. Her hand slipped from beneath her chin, landing on mine. Michelle woke up screaming, "Stop, Joe. Please don't do this to me. Stop. It hurts. I don't want to have sex."

Oh my god. Michelle was attacked and probably raped by a boy named Joe. She continued to cry about stabbing him. Holy crap. Michelle was a tough girl. "Hey, Michelle, you're okay," I said. She didn't respond to me.

"Stephanie," Dad calmly said. "You're with Bobby and Rob. Nobody is hurting you." He kept repeating the words until she looked at him.

"Sorry," she cried. I wrapped my arm around her and let her cry on my shoulder.

"Do I call you Stephanie or Michelle?" I asked when she stopped crying.

"My real name is Stephanie Michelle. You already know I'm going by Michelle Estephania Pardo in Florida," she replied, lifting her head to look into my eyes. Michelle's eyes are red and puffy. Her blue eyes are more pronounced, rimmed in red. She was beautiful. "Please, call me Michelle. I need to get used to answering to that name."

"Okay," I said. Stephanie…I mean, Michelle put her head back on my shoulder. I liked the feel of her in my arms, but not enough to want to have her as my girlfriend.

"You're the protective older brother I always wanted," Michelle sighed.