“Jesus,” I mutter, not expecting her to bethatgoddamn close. “Ever heard of personal space, kid?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head and giggling. “I dunno what that is. Is that somethin’ you did when you was havin’ S-E-X?”
My mouth pops open, completely stunned.
Olive cackles loudly, but the second she catches sight of my face, she loses it completely, bending over at the waist and laughing so hard, she goes silent and her face turns cherry red.
Meanwhile, I’m floundering and trying to think of a proper response for a goddamn three-year-old.
Nothing comes to mind, so I settle on a dry, “No.”
That only makes Olive laugh harder, and Junie joins in, clueless and only doing it because her mom is.
I let out a heavy sigh and shake my head, though my lips curl upward. The kid has no fucking idea what she even asked, but I will have precisely zero percent involvement in that conversation should she probe further.
When Olive recovers, I flick her a narrow-eyed look that says the words I can’t speak—fuck off.
She continues to chuckle while wiping tears from beneath her eyes. “Oh, my God. I need to check the cameras to see if they caught the look on your face. I’m selling that shit for big money.”
I give her a deadpan glare while Junie crawls onto my lap and settles back against my chest, her focus back onBlueyalready. Easily entertained but the attention span of a squirrel.
“That was extremely traumatizing,” I tell her, earning a loud guffaw.
“Just wait. It only gets worse from here, dude. Especially when she actually learns how to spell.”
I gather Junie against me, pressing my cheek into hers, and squeeze tight until she squeals and giggles.
“Nah, she’s staying this little forever. Right, Junie-pop?”
“Nooo,” she draws out, still laughing. “I’m gonna be bigger and stronger than you.”
“Nuh-uh,” I tease in a childlike tone.
“Yes-huh!” she shouts, once again nearly bursting my eardrums. She whips her head around, scarcely missing my nose as she looks up at me with sparkling blue eyes. She boops my nose with her tiny pointer finger. “Don’worry, Kelly-pop. I protect you.”
I grin, though it makes my throat tighten.
My voice is considerably raspier when I say, “I couldn’t ask for anyone better to protect me than you, Junie-pop.”
But there's a distinct voice in the back of my head, pitying Reverie for having no one to protect her later tonight.
Because I'm going to take Olive’s advice.
The only way to truly get over this persistent anger at Reverie is to let myself feel it.
She said to do whatever I needed to do and then let it go.
And I know exactly how I want Reverie to pay—just one last time.
CHAPTER 25
REVERIE
The impenetrable cold sinking into my bones is the first sensation that alerts my subconscious to danger. Something is wrong—very fucking wrong.
The ominous feeling bubbles in the pit of my stomach, and instantly, my heart picks up speed while a cold sweat forms on the back of my neck.
My eyes fly open, but only pitch-blackness surrounds me. I can’t see a thing, but I can feel I’m in a confined space. The air is denser, making it harder to breathe.
