I shake my head and slide my hands in my pockets. “I’m going to make this real clear for you, so you don’t waste either of our time with your pathetic attempts to ruin my relationship.” I shift so I can see Lola through the mountains she stayed up late painting on the glass windows.
Laughter breaks like a wave across her face at something Skyler said and the need to be in there with her, holding her in my arms, pulls at my chest. I keep watching her as I talk. “I have loved that girl, in one way or another, for over a decade. I have more love for Lola than our entire family has for each other.”
“Your mother and I love you, Roman. You’re our son.” He says the words matter-of-factly, like they’re a script he’s memorized.
I poke my tongue into my cheek and let out a heavy sigh before turning to face him. “You were sick, Dad. I don’t even know how badly, but you were sick and neither you nor Mum thought to call me.”
My father blinks back at me but he doesn’t try to argue or defend himself. I think he’s finally figuring out there’s nothing he can say. Love isn’t just spoken, it’s shown and if he really loved me, he would have been there all the times I needed a father. He would haveshown up.
I run a hand over my still damp hair and look back at the coffee shop. Lola’s whirling around, arranging the pastries on the counter. She is light and joy. A tropical storm.
I hate my father for what he did. He wrapped his hand around her and squeezed until she felt small. Until she felt less. And I’m done with it.
“You need to stop with the threats,” I tell him, my voice thick with gravel. “Stop with the job offers. Stop trying to be a part of my life on your own terms. Pine Rock is my home. Lola is my family.” I spin to face my father, pinning him with my fury. “If you try to fuck with that again, Iwillmake you regret it.”
He rocks back on his heels and pockets his hands, his gaze assessing. Almost proud. “You know it’s that kind of ruthlessness that would have made you excellent in a boardroom.”
I hold my gaze steady. “I guess I learned from the best.”
He pauses for a moment then dips his head.
His concession is about as close to an apology I’ll ever get so I nod back and watch him walk away. Maybe it should hurt more but my body is hardwired to expect this from him. I learned at fifteen what real love looks like and I learned it from the Fords. Not the man walking away from me.
The second he turns the corner, Beli appears at my side and shoves a tub of ice cream into my hands. “Strawberry with Lychee boba. On me. Eat. That man gave me the ick.” Her small body shudders. Then she sets her narrow eyes on me. “You look after our Lola.”
I press a smile between my lips. “Yes ma’am.”
“Good.” She pats me on the cheek then scurries away, leaving me standing on the pavement with a tub of ice cream numbing my fingers.
It’s six thirty in the morning but when Beli gives you ice cream you don’t say no. So I pick up the tiny wooden spoon and savor the sweet strawberry flavor that bursts on my tongue.
Lola looks over when I enter the shop, a question in her eyes.
I smile at her and take another scoop. “Beli gave me ice cream.”
Lola pouts. “No fair. I want ice cream for breakfast.”
I hold the tub away from her as she walks up to me. “Hmm, that’s too bad.”
She crosses her arms in a huff. “Roman Marcus?—”
I slide my hand around the back of her neck before she can finish my full name and bring my lips to hers. My fingers thread through her hair at the back of her skull and I groan low in my throat. I could live off of strawberry ice cream and Lola’s lips.
Her hands find my chest as we come apart, her teeth nibbling at her lip. “Are you okay?”
I take a moment to think about her question. My heart aches a little, an echo of the pain I felt every time my father failed to show up or used his words to cut me down, but it’s a faded bruise. One I barely notice when I’m looking at Lola. “Yeah, Firebird,” I murmur, “I’m good.”
Her smile blooms inside my chest.
I think, so long as Lola’s in my arms, I will never not be okay.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lola
Die, bitch!
- Words scratched onto a photo of Lola found in Rob Carson’s car
