The way she looked at me, the way her eyes had hooded, her breathing becoming shallow. Her lips had parted.
She looked like she was begging to be fucked. To be claimed. By me.
I’d been ready to tear her fucking clothes off, to surge into her with my god damndaughterin the same house.
What was wrong with me?
I tried to force my eyes back on the spreadsheets, telling myself to focus on the business, loan payments, and medical bills. All pressing, important.
But all I could think about was Hannah.
eight
HANNAH
It wasone of the worst days of my week. And one I had secretly waited for because I was a masochist.
Beau was home. All day. All night.
Either the restaurant was closed or it was his day off—I didn’t know because I didn’t ask. Limiting my interactions with him was safest.
Beau was with Clara in her room, reading together while music played from the Bluetooth speaker she got for her birthday. Clara loved music—Taylor Swift, Bach, Stevie Nicks, Nirvana. Her taste was varied and genre-bending, some obviously influenced by her father, others completely her.
The house was never quiet, not for a moment. If there wasn’t music, there was Clara’s chatter, questions, commentary, compliments, or just a low hum of contentment when she was happily playing alone.
I didn’t realize how much the sounds of a happy child, a happy home, meant to me until I went to my own bedroom and was met with oppressive silence.
I was already on edge because I didn’t like being in the house when Beau was home, spending time with his daughter, making it clear he didn't need me. I usually went out for walks, pickedweeds in the garden, or marinated in existential dread with my headphones blaring.
I hadn’t made friends in Jupiter, unless you counted the handful of mothers at the park who were nice. But Clara still wasn’t cleared for too much socializing, so I rarely saw them. Clara was my best friend, as pathetic as that was. So when Beau was with her, I felt like a ghost, trying to float around so no one would notice me but also desperate to be seen.
More than a little pathetic.
The knock at the door was a signal of something, or someone, breaking up my day. Probably a delivery person or Beau’s father. Maybe Elliot. We still didn’t get many visitors, especially unannounced. Though after Clara’s birthday party, more people were in contact, and we’d even had a couple of playdates with Nora’s eldest daughter on the warmer days we were able to be outside following correct precautions. Clara loved being around kids, even the younger ones, since she’d been isolated for so long. As winter crept in, I was looking forward to the restrictions on her being lifted further, so we could take Nora, Fiona, and Avery up on their invitations.
Though she’d always been warm and friendly, I didnot expect Fiona to be on Beau’s doorstep, smiling at me and rubbing her arms over the top of her jacket
“It is cold as all fuck out here,” she declared, stepping inside.
I let her, because itwascold—though nowhere near as bad as I was preparing for it to be—and because she was nice, and the only other option was barring her from entering.
“I’ve been away from Australia for ages, but my blood still rejects this feral weather.” Fiona shivered, blowing into her cupped hands.
“That makes me nervous since the worst is yet to come,” I told her with a smile.
Even though I didn’t know the purpose of Fiona’s visit—I was reasonably sure that she and Beau were not close friends—I was glad for it. It gave me some respite from the tension simmering in the house, two adults dancing around each other, pretending. Beau was pretending—badly—that he was tolerating my existence. Me pretending—arguably just as badly—that I didn’t hate him, didn’t want him.
It was exhausting, adding to my other stress about Waylon’s credit card charges. I was up late creating a budget, redoing it, trying to figure out if I could go back to school once I finished here, even if I was on the hook for those charges or if I’d have to continue working.
“I’m not here to make you nervous, I’m here to kidnap you.” Fiona smirked.
I stared at her, trying to understand if it was some joke that didn’t transcend cultures. “I don’t think you tell people you’re kidnapping them.” I didn’t know what else to say.
She chuckled. The sound was genuine, warm. “I’ll make note of that for next time.”
“We’ve been meaning to do it for ages, but schedules, children.” Fiona waved her hand dismissively. “You’re coming for drinks.”
“Drinks?” I reared back in surprise, my stomach pitching and somehow also soaring at the invitation, Fiona being there forme.
