“What?” I snap, cocking a hip and placing my fist there.
He stands, towering over me. “Do you know how fucking worried I’ve been?”
My eyebrows pull together. “H…has something happened?”
“Yeah, you turned your fucking tracking app off. That’s what’s happened and you wouldn’t answer your fucking phone. I didn’t know if something had happened to you. I even went to the fucking shopping centre looking for you.”
My jaw drops. It’s not often I’m rendered speechless, but neither is someone driving thirty miles to look for me. “I never turned the app off. I swear.” My hand grips my chest over my heart. “My phone died.”
“Save your excuses. I asked you for one thing and one thing only while you’re living under my roof.”
“Well, technically, you asked for two things: to stay away from Jesse and to keep the tracking app. Both I’ve done, so what’s got your back up now?”
“I ask that you obey me. To let me take care of you, and I can’t fucking do that when I don’t know where you are.”
“I told you I was going shopping.” I take a long drag from the blunt, hoping it will help me remain calm.
He rips the joint from my hand and douses it in his beer. “You need to be punished.”
I roll my eyes, but bite back a laugh. “I’m a grown fucking woman. What are you gonna do, spank me again?” A throb pulses in my core at the memory, and I suck in a breath, squeezing my thighs together.
“No. I told you I wouldn't hurt you again, and I won't. Get to your room. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night.”
I spin in my Converse, my dress flaring as I march to the door with clenched fists. He may not be physically hurting me, but the pain slicing through my chest is worse.
“And wipe that shit off your face while you’re at it,” he yells before crashing back onto the sofa.
I reach the door, gripping the handle with a deep breath, tears stinging my eyes as I hold them under my lids. When I turn back to him and open them, he’s rolling another blunt as if I’m not even here.
A sob threatens, but I bite it back. “I only did my hair and makeup for you.”
His eyes lift to see mine for a second before I gently close the door and walk up the stairs.
A silent tear falls once I’m in my room. Frustration seeps through my newly painted face as I pace the walls, then haul myself to the bathroom. I throw my denim jacket off, pull down my tights and rip the skater dress over my head.
Stripped bare, I shower off the day, hoping it will ease my frustration and dampen the fiery anger inside me. Tears pool in the corner of my eye, and I hold my head up to the water, washing them away. He does care. The only person to actually give a shit about my whereabouts.
This must be what it feels like to have a parent who worries about you; something that’s evaded me my whole life. As frustrated as I am, it feels nice to have someone genuinely care.
Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and run a comb through my wet hair. I don’t want to go back to my room and leave things like this. Plus, I’m dying of thirst and haven’t eaten since lunch. Hand hovering with the brush caught on a lug, I frown. Is that what he meant by punishment, sending me to bed with no supper? I’m not fucking twelve.
I unhook my towelling dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door and wrap it tight around my damp body. Tiptoeing down the stairs, I sneak into the kitchen and guzzle down a glass of milk, noticing a bag of toffee popcorn on the side next to a bottle of Prosecco, and a birthday cake. The packaging is undone with a lone used candle inside the box. But whose birthday is it?
I cover my mouth with my hands and gasp.
Crap on a stick. I’ve missed his birthday. No wonder he’s pissed. But how was I supposed to know? What’s worse is I didn’t notice a single card for him in the house. My shoulders drop along with my plummeting heart.
Belle brushes against my bare leg. When I turn, he’s leaning against the door jamb, his hands stuffed in his jeans pocket.
“I was gonna toast your mum’s birthday with you tonight.” His voice is barely audible through the thrashing guilt between my ears.
My watery gaze meets his across the kitchen. “Today is Mum’s birthday?” I’ve been so wrapped up in Kane and my own life, I didn’t even realise today’s date. Not that I’ve ever celebrated Mum’s birthday before. I only found out who she was earlier this year when I turned eighteen.
“Yeah. I always buy a cake for her. Red velvet was her favourite.” He slips back into the living room, the TV light casts a rainbow aura as he drops back onto the couch.
My fingers hover over the red happy birthday text on the cake while I think about a woman I never knew.
I envy the woman who inspired such devotion. Aside from the concept that I had a mum at one point, I have no real feelings for the apparition that clings to Kane. But the palpable hurt in his voice and body when he stepped in here slashed at my heart. I glance over my shoulder through the open door leading into the lounge.
