Page 101 of Playboy’s Purgatory

I get it. It’s not the first time it’s happened. If rides on the back of motorcycles had a punch card, she’d be well on her way to a free book, or ice cream, or whatever the prize is for such a thing.

I keep talking like he didn’t attempt to ask a logical question.

“He told me he’d call us—us,” I exclaim as my hands gesture wildly between us as if us being an us is normal, “when he gets back or he’ll just take her back to his house if that works. Then he informed me that he has now, officially and completely, turned your old room into a room for her. He said the bedding they picked out had come in and is already washed and on the bed.”

It was the sweetest thing I had ever heard in my life. I didn’t even know Rumble and Vanessa had been planning it together. Honestly, I suspected they were up to something because Rumble has been stopping in the bakery and not just to talk about sourdough with me. He and Vanessa always have their heads together.

Still, he put a room together for her. At his house.

Not because he had to. Because he wanted her to feel welcome and comfortable. He didn’t even have to explain why he did it; I just knew.

The weight of it, this feeling, of how this hits me, is strange. Probably because while it’s heavy in a way, it’s also light.

It’s care.

It’s support.

It’s protection that has nothing to do with possession or duty, and everything to do with choice.

Rumble just did it.

Just like he showed up and took my daughter on an adventure because she loves it.

I also know it’s for me. He’s trying to give me a break, a beat, a breath. His care, support, and protection wrap around me just as much as they do Vanessa.

Rumble’s son is exactly the same way.

The tears come suddenly and pitifully. Uncontrollably.

Not pretty tears. No, this is something so deep that ugly is the only type of crying possible.

“Holy shit,” Jettson closes the distance between us, his hands hovering over me like he’s afraid to touch, “are you crying because you’re sad that he used my old room? I haven’t slept there in years,” he’s quick to explain as if that could possibly be why I’m crying. “I think it’s wonderful and I’m glad she has a place where she can stay and feel safe and happy.”

The tears only come faster now and when I look up at him, his face is a mask of pure panic. In any other situation it would be hilarious.

But right now, I’m having a small breakdown.

“You should have seen Vanessa’s face,” I’m able to get out once I force myself to calm down a little. “She was more than happy. She was glowing. She’s never really had that.”

“I thought your parents helped you?” He asks the question so gently; it only makes the tears stream faster and his eyes widen again as he starts shaking his head.

“They did help me,” I whisper, “and they did the best they could. I think.” I close my eyes and try not to let all the old hurts, all the old grievances, turn me bitter. It would be so easy. “But they had their own guilt and fears. They didn’t want to hold Vanessa too close or get too involved because they were afraid anything they said or did would make her turn out just like Lola.”

“Cupcake,” the word falls from his lips filled with pain.

Not pity. Pain. For me. For Vanessa. Maybe even for my parents.

They’re the ones who lost out. I know they love Vanessa, but they can’t be the grandparents she needs.

“I couldn’t stay with them. Once I got out of culinary school and started working, I got a place. They would still babysit and help around my schedule, but we needed the distance. They spent less and less time with her, especially after she started school,” I explain. “They’re not cold.”

I’m not sure why a tiny part of me feels the need to find some sort of defense.

“You don’t need to defend them. They have no idea what they’re missing,” he sounds so sure.

“Honestly, it’s hard for me to offer them more. They cosigned on Lola’s crap for so long and far too often I was the one she targeted. I’ll ever trust them, even though they helped. It was the least they could do.”

I’ve never admitted that to anyone. I’ve never said it out loud. I always thought it was too vindictive. Too petty.