Gauge
“This is…” Dom’smom, Angelique, her French accent thick, asked, “yourcopain?” Her tired blue eyes assessed me from head to toe.
“Oui. He’smy boyfriend and we’re in love,” Jolie drolled sarcastically. “Look, Iwouldn'texactly call us boyfriend and girlfriend, but—”
Angelique switched to French, her gaze moving between me and Jolie as she did. Her words were fast but softly spoken. In fact, everything about her was soft—her curves, her eyes, her voice, even her smile. She was almost the exact opposite of Jolie and Dom in that respect. Where she was soft, they were hard.
“What’sshe saying?” Iasked, and Angelique stopped speaking momentarily to frown at me before continuing in her softly spoken tirade. “Jolie, what’shappening?”
It didn’ttake me speaking French to understand that she didn’tapprove of me being her daughter'sboyfriend.
Jolie replied to her mom in French before grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room. We ascended the stairs with Angelique and Jolie still yelling back and forth to one another in French, right up until Jolie pushed me into alarge bedroom that Iquickly realized was hers. The walls were covered in band posters and artwork, acluttered vanity desk was filled with overflowing boxes and bags of makeup and hair products, bottles of perfume and jewelry scattered across the surface. An unmade double bed was by the window, and an unhealthy amount of clothes were piled on the end of it. Shoes stuck out from underneath the messy bed, and acloset sat on the opposite side of the room, both doors flung open, showing more clothes.
Jolie slammed the bedroom door closed behind us and stomped across the room toward her bed. She flung herself on it, haphazardly kicking off the Chucks she had been wearing. “She doesn’tbelieve me,” Jolie said. “About us.”
“That much Igot.” Iwasn’texactly surprised, and Idoubted Jolie actually was either. We weren’texactly couple material.
Jolie turned over and sat up, her bare legs swinging over the side of her bed. “She said you look dangerous. That you look like someone Marcel would be friends with.” Her cheeks were flushed despite the defiance in her eyes. “She asked me if Iwas on drugs like Marcel, and then she wanted to know why Dom hadn’tcome home to help like she’dasked. And when Isaid that Dom had sent you to keep watch over us because of something that had happened at the club, she said Dom never came to visit because of me.” Her voice broke on the last part of her sentence, and something akin to sympathy bled into me. “Whatever,” she said, her voice almost sad.
“She was disappointed in you,” Isaid, “for not bringing Dom home.”
Jolie snorted out adry laugh. “She’salways disappointed in me.” She shook her head and looked away. “Yet no matter what Dom does, he’sstill the golden child. Even now, when his club got me almost…whatever. Ishouldn’tbe surprised anymore.”
Everything she said was true, and Ifelt sorry for her, despite swearing Iwould never feel sorry for anyone. That was one of my four golden rules.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands on either side of her gripping the mattress as she stared down at her bare feet, clearly lost in her own thoughts. She looked broken, and it worried me how much Ihated that look on her face. She had been stripped of her makeup and clothes, of her armor. Her strength. Right then she looked lost. Lost and fucking broken.
Idropped my bag at my feet and looked around us, wondering how long Iwas going to have to stay there. She came across like she was agrown-ass woman, but looking around the room, it showed just how much of akid she still was. Despite her being eighteen and legal, aman like me had no place being in that bedroom. Shit made me feel wrong.
“You got aspare room Ican sleep in?” Iasked.
She stared at me, her dark eyes assessing my words, and then she stood up. “I’mgoing for ashower. Make yourself at home.” She rolled her eyes at me and left the room, and Iguessed that her reply answered my question.
Iturned and looked around again, wondering how the hell it had come to this; babysitting Dom’slittle sister. Ihated kids. Ihated bitchy women. Ihated being told what to do. And this shit was all three.
Istrode across to the window, making note of the overgrown field at the back of the property. The backyard was aflourish of colors, flowers fucking everywhere. There was atall, sturdy-looking fence surrounding the house and yard, so no one was likely going to get in through the back. No, if anyone was stupid enough to try anything, it would be from the front of the property. Though Iwas hoping the prospects parked out front would put anyone off.
Heading out of the room and across the hall, Ibegan checking the other windows Ifound along the way, choosing not to venture into any other rooms. So long as Ihad the layout of the house, it should be fine. Back downstairs, Iwent from room to room so that Iknew the layout down there too. In the kitchen Ifound Angelique kneading abig ball of dough, flour dusted along the work surface and halfway up her arms. She gave me abrief glance but then focused back on the dough as Ichecked out the lock on the back door. It was apiece of shit that looked like it had been busted in more than once already.
“Ihope you know what you’re doing with her,” Angelique said, and when Iturned to her in surprise Inoted how her mouth was pinched into atight line, all softness gone.
“Somethin’ you wanna say?” Iasked.
“Jolie is trouble. Always has been. Even as ababy, she was always shouting and fighting. Barely one year old and pulling on her brother'shair like she was one of the boys.” She grabbed the rolling pin and began rolling the pastry. “She’sas stubborn as an ox and as angry as abull, that one.”
Isnorted on alaugh. “You got that right. But she’salso really fuckin’ strong.”
Angelique hissed at my cussing. “Langue.”
Ishrugged, because Iwasn'tabout to apologize for who Iwas or how Ispoke. “Besides, you know I’mnot really her boyfriend, so what’sthis warning really about?”
She stopped rolling the dough, before wiping her hands along the bottom of her apron. Her blue eyes fixed me. “Just be careful.”
“Carefulwithher orofher? Because if that were my daughter, I’dbe warning aman like me to be carefulwithher.” My arms were folded across my chest, my too-large frame feeling strangely at home in the small space. My eyes glanced across the walls at the framed photographs of smiling children. Icould pick Dom out easily, his red hair vibrant even as achild. Jolie was the only female, barring her mom, so she was easy to spot too. Ilooked away, my gaze going back to Angelique. How the hell they fit so many kids into that house was beyond me.
“If that is what you think, then you don’tknow her well enough.” She sounded almost amused when she spoke, and Iraised an eyebrow in wonder.
How could that woman look at me and think that Ineeded to worry about Jolie? She was strong and feisty but she was also aslight thing, and well, Iwas me: agrown man over three times her size.
