He glares at me for a long, ugly second before his mouth twists into something mean. “Looks like you still owe me money.”
Owen turns, brows knitting. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem is I want what’s mine,” Sully snaps, voice sharp and slurred at the edges. “You don’t get to just cut me off. Half of that business is mine.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t raise my voice.
“That’s not true,” I say evenly. “And you know it. You stole all the tools and sold them off. Even some that were mine. And you took half the money for the past ten years. I’d say we’re pretty even on the business if you ask me. You also never supported Owen. You owe us, if anything.”
He steps closer, too close, and grips the front of my cart hard enough that it jerks to a stop. The metal rattles, loud in the aisle. A couple people glance over.
“You think you can just walk away from me now?” he sneers. “Heard you got yourself a husband. You think that fixes this?”
Owen stiffens beside me.
I feel something settle in my chest. Cold. Solid.
“There’s a court order,” I say clearly. “You’re required to stay away from me and from Owen. You’re not supposed to be here talking to us at all.”
His eyes flash, wild and unfocused. “That paper doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does,” I say. “And every word you say right now is another violation.”
His grip tightens on the cart. His jaw works like he’s chewing on rage. “You’re going to give me my money,” he growls. “You don’t get to decide this.”
“I already did,” I shove the cart forward, breaking his hold, and step past him without waiting to see his face. I don’t give him another second of me.
I look down at Owen, keep my voice calm, normal. “Do we need milk?”
He blinks, then nods like he’s taking his cue from me. “Probably.”
He reaches into the cooler and grabs a gallon like this is any other grocery run.
Behind us, something crashes. I hear cans clatter and a cart slam into a display. Someone curses under their breath. I hear Sully shouting, angry and unhinged, the sound of him storming off echoing down the aisle.
I don’t turn around.
I keep walking. One hand steady on the cart. The other brushing Owen’s sleeve, grounding both of us.
For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m running. I feel likeI’m done.
“Hey, let’s go pick out your favorite cereal, too,” I say as we move through the store.
“What do you think he’s going to do?” Owen whispers nervously when we make it to the cereal aisle.
“I don’t know, buddy.” I shake my head. But I know one thing for sure, I’m not letting him intimidate us anymore. This has to stop.
Back at the apartment, I tie my hair up and get to work. Cooking feels like love when I get to do it like this. I get the brownies and cookies baking, and I make dinner. I pack everything up while Owen sets the table and sneaks chocolate chip cookies when he thinks I’m not looking.
Ollie’s on shift, so we load up the truck and head to the station.
Laughter spills out the front door when we walk in. The guys light up like we’re expected.
“Well, if it isn’t our favorite people,” someone calls.
I set the food down, and they swarm it, teasing and groaning and already asking for seconds.
“Man,” one of them says to Ollie, not knowing I can hear. “We love her.”
