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There’s no way I can put myself in that position again. The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.
She is my little nightmare, and I’m totally screwed.
CHAPTER FOUR
IMMIE
After Jensen finished showering, he rushed out of the bathroom and told me he’d see me downstairs when I was ready for dinner. All while keeping his focus on the floor, which irked me.
I made quick work of washing myself. Though I’d have liked to linger in the comfort of knowing we’ve shared a shower, I was eager to get downstairs and spend as much time with him as possible.
When I step into the family room, he’s relaxing on the sofa with an array of Chinese food littering the coffee table, bringing a smile to my face.
“It’s here already.”
My hair is wrapped in a towel, and I’m wearing one of his old band T-shirts he purchased after he took me to a gig when I was fourteen. I still swim in it, but I love it and aim to wear it as much as possible despite the holes.
His lips quirk. “You still wear that thing, huh?” He tugs on the hem as I step toward him.
“Can you brush my hair?” I ask, thrusting the brush into his hand, then drop my ass to the floor so I’m seated between his open legs.
He throws his head back on a deep laugh. “You never give me a choice.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. “Don’t you want to?”
He scans my face, becoming serious. “Always.”
“Good.” I make a shooing action with my hand. “Now, hurry before dinner gets cold.”
“You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you.” Then he leans forward until his lips are brushing my ear. “Where did my innocent little girl go?”
Oh, he simply has no idea. I smile to myself as he tenderly brushes my hair.
No idea at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
JENSEN
Immie lays facing the television with her head in my lap while I brush her hair in a soothing motion.
She devoured her meal; she’s always had a good appetite. At first, I put it down to her living conditions, but I soon learned she simply enjoys food, and I like that about her. I like it even more that she doesn’t care about putting on weight. Unlike my wife, where everything is superficial.
It’s safe to say that if I didn’t need some sort of structure for Immie, I wouldn’t have married Amanda, but I did, so now, I’m stuck with her. Amanda craved commitment for years, so when I turned up at the home of my girlfriend with a “long-lost teenage daughter,” I quickly put a ring on her finger to disperse any mentions of her leaving me.
Before long, we were married, I moved her into my familia home, and gave her exactly what she asked for.
In turn, I needed someone to care for Immie while I was away, and I can admit now that Amanda wasn’t the best candidate for the job. Originally, I’d hoped she would soften toward Immie, that maybe she would become the motherly figure I felt Immie needed. It soon became apparent Amanda had no intention of playing happy family with her. She wanted the ring and wealth and saw Immie as a surefire way of receiving it.
There’s no love lost between the two of them. Amanda’s hostility toward Immie is evident, and over the years, I’ve worried I caused more harm than good to Immie’s mental well-being. So much so, I discussed the issue with her therapist, who reassured me Immie was happy and stable enough in the home that appeared more like a war zone than a loving environment whenever I returned.
“Are you happy here?” I ask. The question I always ask when I return.
“Very.” It’s the answer she always gives, so it comes as no surprise, but this time, something urges me to dig deeper, to have a discussion with her beyond the usual surface-level inquiries. “Has Amanda been okay?”
She turns onto her back to face me, and I look down at her as she chews her bottom lip.
“Why do you ask?” Her blue eyes search mine, and I can’t resist reaching out to stroke her soft cheek.
