She can play devoted mother of the year when River is around—captain of the football team, top grades, a shiny trophy for her to parade in front of her stuck-up bitch friends. Willow, though,she's never had the time or patience for her and never pretended that she did.
Willow is grieving and most likely hungover if what Ezra said is true, and clearly, she isn't in a good place at all. Rose will sense that and will stamp all over it.
For the love of all things holy, what did I see in her?
“I’ll fill you in later,” I say, already walking toward my car. “Lock the garage up.”
I yank the door open, then look back over my shoulder. “Oh, and no women at the flat while River is staying over.”
Ezra rolls his eyes so hard I can practically hear it. “I’m wounded you'd even suggest I’d traumatise the kids.”
I know my son is no saint; he told me when he lost his virginity, but it's not the point.
“You traumatise everyone,” I call back, dropping into the driver's seat. “Just keep it in your pants for one night.”
He flips me off, and I return it as I shut the door and fire up the engine.
Time to go deal with the hurricane.
Chapter 3
Willow
Rose left not long after I shut myself in my room. No goodbye, no apology, nothing that resembles basic human decency. Just the slam of the front door and then silence. Her husband hasn't come back either, so it's just been Sassy and me for hours.
It's strange, being truly alone.
I lived with my dad my whole life, and we rarely spent time apart. If I wasn't trailing after him at the garage, I was in the passenger seat of his car, letting me hijack the radio and scream Alex Warren songs like a wannabe popstar. Sometimes I’d sit in the garage office doing homework, or he and the guys would teach me the basics—how to check the oil, how to change a tyre, how not to get scammed by mechanics who thought girls didn't know shit.
Not like I would ever go to anybody else with car problems but my dad.
We watched horror films together, even though he was absolutely terrible with them. He’d jump at every scare, pretend he didn't, then glare at me when I laughed. And every year, without fail, we’d rewatch Homeward Bound. It was our thing. That's why I named Sassy… Well, Sassy.
He was my person. My anchor. My best friend.
When I was sick, he held my hair back. When I started my period, he drove around town hunting down the exact sweets I liked. He showed up for everything. Every dance show. Every exam result. Every stupid heartbreak.
Nobody was ever good enough for his little girl.
And now he's just… gone.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be happy again—properly happy, not the kind that lasts a few minutes before the ache crawls back in. Lately, it feels like all I do is try to outrun the pain. Going out, getting drunk, hooking up… it quiets everything for a little while. Makes me numb.
I can't do that tonight.
River needs me.
His game tonight decides whether his team makes it to the finals, and there's no universe where I’m not there for him. Even if I’m barely holding myself together. Even if I’m suffocating behind a smile, no one seems to see through.
I finish the last of my makeup, dragging the red and blue stripes across my cheeks like war paint. Black jean shorts. Rivers’ spare football top—the one he practically begged me to wear. My thick, deep ginger hair is tied up and out of my face; for once, the weather is actually warm.
When I look in the mirror, I don't even recognise the girl staring back.
She looks like me… but hollowed out.
A shell.
I pat more concealer under my eyes, trying to hide the exhaustion that's carved into my skin, but it doesn't help much. The bags are still there, as though I haven't slept in a week. I look at my collarbones, which seem sharper than they used to be. Somewhere along the way, the sadness started eating pieces of me, and I didn't notice until now.
