“Get out,” I spit.
Kodi laughed like I was bluffing. “Rhythm—”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I repeated, louder.
KJ’s voice called from the living room. “Mom?”
“I’m okay,” I called back. “Eat your food.”
Then I glared at Kodi. “I said get out. You are not about to disrespect me in my house, especially when you don’t pay one bill in this motherfucker.”
Kodi turned to leave, but his hip “accidentally” hit the small table where I had a cup of paint sitting. The cup tipped over, and thick, dark, wet paint spilled right onto the finished piece I had completed yesterday that had been leaning against the wall drying.
“Fuck!” I gasped.
Kodi paused at the doorway and looked back with this cold glare I had never seen before. Then he just walked out. The door shut behind him with a soft click.
For a second, I stood there staring at the ruined canvas in disbelief. As tears fell, I hated that he could still do that to me. I hated that he could make me feel small in my own home.
I wiped my face, because he didn’t deserve my tears. I crouched in front of the canvas, grabbing rags. I dabbed, blotted, and tried to lift the paint without smearing it worse, but it was already soaked into parts of the work.
AVA REYNOLDS
This was only my second Thanksgiving with the Cartier's, and it was still overwhelming. My father was wealthy, but we did not have an estate. We did not have a private chef catering a meal like the president was pulling up. My father, sister, and I would spend the holidays together, but he would usually take us to a fancy restaurant, and it was always just the three of us.
So, walking through the Cartier estate and seeing the long dining room table dressed for the holidays with linen, large, decorative plates, candles, and place settings made me feel like I was in a staged photo in a magazine.
Chef Eddie and his staff were in the kitchen finishing dinner. The whole house smelled like comfort had been cooked into the walls.
The family was spread out in the den. Football played on the huge TV, but nobody was paying real attention. Toys were everywhere. Aria and Legend’s older children were running and playing. Even some of the staff were there. Some of them did not have people to spend the holiday with. Some of them just did not feel like slaving over a stove. Either way, nobody treated them like “help” today. They were laughing, drinking, playing games,and talking trash with us. I believed the Cartiers liked having the older staff around because it gave them that matriarch-and-patriarch feeling on the days they missed their parents the most.
“Y’all know what I’m thankful for this year,” Saint said, lifting his glass.
Tempo instantly rolled her eyes because she knew Saint wasn’t about to be serious. “What, Saint?”
“That my opps still ain’t got no aim and the competition stillbroke.”
Zahra cut her eyes at him. “Here he go.”
Saint shrugged. “What? Iamgrateful for that shit.”
Legend let out a dry laugh. “This nigga...”
I looked around the room, at all this love and noise and safety, and my eyes stung. My mother had been gone for years, but Thanksgiving made her absence feel so much bigger. And even my father, as sick as it felt to admit, I mourned him too. Not the sadistic motherfucker he actually was, but the version of him I had loved.
I blinked fast and turned on the bar stool to face the bar. That was when Reek slid onto the stool next to me. His scent made you inhale without meaning to. He looked good in that effortless way. He leaned in slightly. “Why you looking so sad?”
I tried to brush it off with a small smile. “I’m fine.”
Reek’s mouth twitched like he knew I was lying. “You don’t look fine.”
I exhaled and admitted, “I’m just missing my mom. Holidays do that.”
His expression got softer. “Yeah, grieving doesn’t stop because time has passed.”
I nodded, staring at my glass so I wouldn’t start crying.
Reek watched me for a second, then his gaze quickly dropped, like he caught himself looking too long. “You too pretty to be over here pouting, though.”
