“And what did you do about it?”
She stays silent and it pisses me off.
Her sob story doesn’t mean anything to me because the person I love is getting hurt because of her actions and choices.
What she needs to do is leave him.
“Maybe the person you should kick out is your husband,” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “He won’t leave me. He loves me.”
Surely, she is fucking joking.
“And the worst part is, I love him and hate him at the same time.”
She is on my shit list.
I scowl. “You need to make a choice. If you don’t leave him, your daughter will keep getting hurt.”
A few seconds pass and she doesn’t utter a word.
Anger floods through my veins seeing her like this.
Sidestepping her, I open the window and leave, not looking back at her at all. She pissed me off enough to not continue the conversation with her.
I jog back to my car and slip inside. The second Rose sees me, her face brightens up.
“You’re back,” she engulfs me in a hug. Her delicious warmth and sweet scent wraps me in entirely and my anger dissipates.
I run my palm down her back. “Of course, I’m back.”
She holds onto me for a while before letting go of me. Her eyes search mine for answers. “Did something happen?”
“No.”
Relief washes over her. Then she asks, “Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
The insightful conversation I had with her mother needs to stay under wraps. I will tell her about it, just not now.
She bites down on her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth. “Didyousee anyone?”
“No. The house seemed empty.” The lie rolls off my tongue so easily. Because I don’t want her to get hurt.
She nods. “My parents must be at work.”
Your mother wasn’t. She looked like as if she knew I’d be there.
“Here’s your bag. I tossed in as many things as I could.”
“Thank you.” She unzips it, grabs her converse and slips them on. When she reaches again for something else, she sees her bras and goes fully red.
“Did I pick the right one?”
She quickly zips her bag. “They’re fine.”
“I picked a blue one. But I made sure there was red one because it’d look fucking sexy?—”
