Without a word, Quinn and Ally follow her, and I’m left alone with my stepson. Ex-stepson. Oh, god. This is such a mess.
He rubs the back of his neck. “I really am sorry, Juliet. It won’t happen again. I’m just sick of his bullshit.”
“What did he do?”
Everett shakes his head with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I’m handling it.”
I chew on my thumbnail. “If this is all too much for you, I can get the court to appoint?—”
“No,” he rushes out. “Seriously, it’s fine. I’m her brother. I promise I won’t let anything happen to her.”
My heart swells at his protectiveness over her.
“I know you won’t. You’ve done so much for us already, Everett. I’m so grateful to you for everything, but you didn’t sign up for this.”
“Neither did you,” he mutters, stunning me into silence. “You didn’t know what he was like until it was too late. I’m sorry I didn’t try to warn you about him.”
“You were only a kid.”
“I was a teenager. Old enough to know that he wasn’t a good guy.”
“He’s your father.”
“He’s my sperm donor, and an arrogant arsehole who thinks splashing his cash around will get him what he wants. It kills him that it doesn’t work with me anymore.”
“Everett…” My voice trails off, not knowing what to say. No child should ever feel like they’re a pawn in their parent’s games.
“It’s fine, Juliet. I’ve accepted what my relationship with him is. You don’t have to worry about me.” He moves for the door, then hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Can I pick Tinsley up from preschool on Tuesday? Hang out with her? I’ll drop her back before dinner.”
I smile. “Of course. She loves spending time with you.”
“Me, too. Maybe we could make it a regular thing?”
“She’d love that.”
He opens the door, and I call after him.
“If you ever need anything, just ask. We’re family.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 9
Blake
Apiercing wail rips me from sleep, making my ears ring as I jolt upright. My eyes dart to my laughing housemate and the fucking air horn in his hand.
I slam my hands over my ears as he blows it again.
“What the fuck?” I curse, glaring at Everett, Zac, and our ex-teammate, Alex Ritter, who are crowded in my room.
“Time to get up, arsehole,” Everett says with a grin, kicking my bed. “We’re staging an intervention.”
“Fuck off.” I drop back onto my pillows and rest my forearm over my eyes. “I don’t need a goddamn intervention.”
Someone kicks my bed again, and then my sheets are ripped off me. Thankfully, I’m wearing boxers, otherwise they would have copped more than they bargained for.
“Let’s go, sunshine,” Ritter says, dropping onto my mattress next to me. “I’ve come all the way from Sydney for this. I thought we were mates.”
