Page 42 of Lethal Weakness

“We just have a pickup order.”

“You can come to the bar. She has to stay outside.”

“She’s not a dog. I can’t leave her outside alone.” I glance around the dark, nearly empty room, and scoff when I see the familiar set of shoulders at the far end of the bar.

Jack is here. I didn’t know he ever left his house.

One other person is sitting a few seats away from him with his hood up, looking nearly asleep, and someone else at one of the tables with his back to us, playing solitaire. Everyone can hear the bartender chirping, but no one speaks up for me.

Men are leaders, my ass.

I pick Avery up, and her arms cling to my neck. She’s old enough to understand the bartender’s words. She knows how it feels to be unwanted, even if she doesn’t understand the legality of being in a bar under age.

I just wanted a damn pizza.

I don’t bother arguing. I don’t have the will after fighting so many battles in my life already. Some things just aren’t worth your breath.

“You still owe me for the pizza,” the bartender yells just before we’re out the door.

My eyes snap towards him angrily, but they connect with the hard stare that’s reflected in the mirror behind the liquor bottles.

“Screw you.”

Those dark eyes drop to the bar as I fling the door open and carry Avery nearly halfway home before the confrontation really catches up to me.

My sinuses start to burn, and I take long, deep breaths to try to calm myself down. Fuck that bartender and fuck all those men in there. Fuck, Jack.

He didn’t even act like he knew who we were.

That’s exactly what I needed to get over my silly crush. I am never going to let a man treat me like I’m nothing. Never again.

“Mommy.”

“Yes,” I speak to the sky as I regain control of my breathing.

She tugs on my hand until I look at her, but she’s looking behind me. Jack’s getting out of his truck, holding a pizza.

“No.” I start walking.

“Linden.”

I cover Avery’s ears. “Fuck off, Jack.”

A deep scoff escapes his mouth as he covers the distance between us easily. “Take the pizza.”

“No, I don’t want it.”

“Linden–”

“Don’t. You didn’t have the decency to turn around and acknowledge me in there; you don’t get a second of my time now.”

“That’s not what that was. I–”

“I don’t care. I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your help. You can stop rescuing me. Eat the pizza. I don’t want it.” I tug Avery along, and she waves obliviously happy at Jack as we flee from him.

I hear him get back in his truck, and I ignore him as he drives past us. But by the time we get there, he’s parked and inside his house, and the pizza is sitting on my front porch.

“Mommy, I have some?” Avery asks innocently, and I exhale in submission.