Chapter 10
10
He drags a frustrated hand down his face as she disappears into the distance.
“Fuck.”
Nervous energy pours off Lux as she rants a mile a minute, twisting and turning so she can evaluate every inch of her outfit in her bedroom mirror.
I lounge on her bed, attention torn between her, the baby splayed across my chest—milk-drunk as hell, his little hands fist my shirt, sleepy noises escaping pursed lips—and the two figures lurking outside in the distance.
I planned on avoiding Hunter after what happened in the barn earlier, embarrassment and insecurity still churning my gut even now. But oh-so-luckily for me, Chiara is obsessed with The Cowboy, as she’s so aptly christened him. She’s taken it upon herself to be his little shadow, and while I tried to subtly intervene at first, eventually, I just left them to it.
From Lux’s bedroom window, I watch with bated breath as Hunter leads Gaia out of the barn and towards Chiara. Apparently, his grumpiness doesn’t extend to children; there’s nothing grumpy about him as he crouches down to say something to her, as he smiles and scoops her up with one arm, as he carefully shows her where Gaia likes to be stroked.
A whine snaps my attention back to Lux. “Are you even listening to me?”
I offer her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
The shirt she’s clutching becomes a weapon as she whips it at my legs. “Do I look okay?”
I don’t need to look at my friend to know the answer—and not just because I’ve already answered that question at least a dozen times over the past half hour. Lux has an uncanny ability to always look good, but I survey her thoughtfully just to humor her.
“You look great,” I assure her. “How do you feel?”
Lux grimaces as she re-tucks her shirt into the waistband of her loose trousers for the hundredth time. “Like I’m a terrible mother.”
“You’re working.”
Her reflection side-eyes me. “I’m going to dinner.”
“With a potential client.”
That beautiful face contorts with guilt. “I’m excited .”
“You’re gonna have a meal that lasts longer than ten minutes for the first time in, what, six weeks? I’d be excited too.”
Lux huffs and fusses, tinkering endlessly with her appearance while she rants some more. I sit quietly and let her. I know she’s not really looking for advice or assurance; she just needs to get it all out. She’s been getting it out since I got back from my ride, and I was greeted by her tearing out of the house, all worked up, screaming that she needed someone to watch Alex.
So, that’s my plan for the night. Even though Lottie is technically the official babysitter, Lux doesn’t quite trust her unsupervised—something I hope she hasn’t shared with her younger sister because that girl does not need another reason to hate me—and I don’t mind pulling double duty watching Alex and Chiara. Not that I’m doing much minding of the latter.
My gaze strays outside again, and this time, Lux’s follows. She huffs a laugh. “If only he acted like that with adults.”
My thoughts exactly.
“Although,” Lux sing-songs, shooting me a raised brow look. “He is nice to you.”
“So he sees me as a child? Great .”
Lux pinches my ankle. “That's not what I meant.”
I don't get to find out what she meant. Her phone buzzes and she snatches it up, swearing beneath her breath. “I gotta go.”
As she zooms out of the room and towards the front door, she shouts over her shoulder, reminding me of all the things I already know: she’ll be home late but not that late, there’s plenty of milk in the fridge, Alex's favorite pacifier is in his crib, he's allergic to sleep right now so if I can't get him down, it's not my fault.
“Lux,” I cut her off when she starts looking at her kid with hesitant, glossy eyes. “We'll be fine.”
Sucking in a breath, she scoops Alex out of his sling, nuzzling her cheek against the top of his head. “You'll call me if you need anything?”
Nothing short of a hospital visit would convince me to call her and admit I can’t handle one measly night of responsibility. But still, I promise, “I will.”
“Okay. Okay .” Sighing deeply, Lux gives Alex one last cuddle before holding him out towards me. “Take him before I start crying.”
I stifle a laugh and oblige, slipping Alex back into his sling as Lux turns on her heel and hauls ass out the front door, sniffling as she goes. Following her outside, I plop down on the porch steps, waving her off as she climbs into her truck and cooing soothing noises to Alex as his mama disappears from sight.
As the rumble of her engine dissipates, the squeals of an over-excited ten-year-old increase in volume as Chiara races towards me, raving a mile a minute about her new best friend.
Is it wrong for me to be a teeny, tiny bit jealous? Yes?
Am I anyway? Pathetically so.
“Can Hunter watch a movie with us tonight?” she begs, hands clasped beneath her chin, bottom lip popped and pleading.
Swallowing my silly feelings, I paste on a big, fake smile. “If Hunter wants to.”
The budding master manipulator turns on the man in question. “ Please .”
It's definitely wrong that I'm hoping he's going to be rude to a ten-year-old and shut her down just so I don't have to sit in his vicinity. But, as Lux and I established earlier, Hunter only dislikes fully-grown people. So I shouldn't be surprised when his big freaking head bobs up and down.
Great .
I wake up on the sofa who knows how long later with a blanket strewn across my lap and Netflix asking if I'm still watching.
We only got through half a movie before Aldo showed up to collect his daughter. After walking them both to the car and bidding them goodbye, I came back inside to find the house empty, no giant cowboy in sight. As I put Alex to bed, I tried to decide how I felt about the absence; relieved or lonely or something in between. Undecided was what I settled on before I passed out on the sofa watching something mindless.
Now, the living room is swathed in shadows, bathed in the dark orange light of a rapidly setting sun. Groggily pushing myself up on my elbows, I peek over the back of the sofa, my eyes widening at what I find.
I kick off the blanket tangled around my legs. Swallowing a yawn, I pad into the kitchen. “That’s my job.”
It’s a miracle, really, that I manage to get the words out, what with the sight before me—Hunter sitting at the kitchen table, cradling Alex as he feeds him a bottle. Only when the little guy’s fierce suckling eases and Hunter situates him to be burped does he acknowledge my presence. “You were asleep.”
Something defensive licks a path up my spine. “I had an alarm set.” Several alarms, actually, to make sure I don’t accidentally mess up Alex’s feeding schedule.
“I know.” One big hand rubs Alex's back, fingers spanning the length of him. “I turned it off.”
“Why?”
“You were asleep.” Wood scrapes against wood as Hunter pushes back his chair, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna put him back down.”
“I can—”
“I got it.”
I don’t like how I feel as I watch him disappear down the hall. Not the odd warm buzz at the sight of the littlest Jackson drooling on his shoulder, nor the icky incompetence of someone doing my job for me.
Shaking it off, I reach for my phone just as it starts to ring. Lux checking in, I assume, but as soon as I lay eyes on the screen, my stomach drops. It’s not a saved number. Not one I recognize either. But somehow, I know. Probably because it’s not the first time I’ve gotten a slew of missed calls from an unknown number late at night.
I really, really don’t want to answer, but I can’t very well stand here, watching it ring, not with Hunter ambling back down the hall towards me. Making a split second decision, I dart outside, ensuring the door closes behind me before reluctantly answering the incoming call. “Dad?”
“Caroline?”
I frown—not the voice I expected. “Who is this?”
“Tommy. Tommy Fields. We, uh, went to high school together?”
The name conjures up a vague memory of a blurry face. He was on the baseball team with Jackson, I think. “Why are you calling me?”
He pauses, clearing his throat. “I work at Bishop’s.”
The only explanation I need, and the exact explanation I expected.
Embarrassment, upset, and annoyance fight for dominance, building something hot and wet behind my eyes. “I can’t help him.”
“He’s pretty bad, Caroline. Been here since this afternoon.”
“I can’t,” I repeat but it’s weak, fragile, malleable.
A deep sigh echoes down the line. “It’s you or the cops, Line.”
Let him call the cops , a bitter voice in my head whispers. He deserves a night in the drunk tank.
I wish I could give in to that voice. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I wasn’t weak, wasn’t a pushover, wasn’t telling Tommy I’ll be there soon.
Nausea slams into me like a freight train as I hang up. My hand trembles as I slide my phone into my pocket, my palm slippery as it wraps around the front door handle and pulls, my head a tangle of too many thoughts to sort through.
“Everything okay?”
I paste on a shaky smile and pray Hunter doesn’t see right through it. “Yeah. I just need to talk to Lottie.”
“She went out.”
My eyes close briefly. Of course, she did. “Then,” I can barely bring myself to whisper, swallowing what little pride I have and grasping my equally lacking backbone with both hands. “I need a favor.”
Dark brows furrow.
“I have to go out for a little while. Can you stay and watch Alex?”
Leaning against the counter, Hunter crosses his arms over his chest and crooks a brow. “I thought that was your job.”
I would laugh, maybe marvel over Hunter joking around with me, if I wasn’t on the verge of tears. “Please, Hunter.”
Two words and his expression becomes stoic, eyes glimmering with concern as they scan me once. “Go. I got it.”
Relief almost buckles my knees. “I swear, I’ll be quick.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
It’s not a flippant offer or a rhetorical question. He’s deadly serious, so earnest, it brings tears to my eyes. Like if I said yes, he wouldn’t hesitate.
God, I want to say yes.
Briefly, I imagine how hard it would be to feel scared with him by my side. And then, I imagine the look on his face when he discovers what I’ve killed myself hiding.
“No,” I choke out. “No, that’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
No . “Yes. Thank you, though.”
I don't risk waiting around because I don't trust myself not to break down and take back my refusal. So, against my better judgment, I hightail it out the door, towards what in my gut I know is not going to be good for me.
He's waiting for me on the curb outside Bishop’s, hunched over with his head between his knees, reeking so strongly of booze it makes my eyes water, even from a distance. I’m under no illusions that he’ll be happy to see me, but I still cringe when bloodshot eyes meet mine and my dad barks, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Saving you from a public disturbance charge. You're welcome. “Taking you home.”
Dad scoffs. Attempting to clamber to his feet, he lasts all of three seconds before gravity pulls him back down. I sigh as I crouch down in front of him, trying to keep my distance, but his sweaty palms land on my bare shoulders and yank me forward. My knees hit the uneven ground, and I wince as I feel gravel scrape my skin, silently wishing I’d sucked it up and powered through the annoyance of my jeans cutting into my stomach rather than changing into more comfortable cotton shorts after my ride earlier.
“Tommy call you?” Rancid breath slaps me in the face as Dad scoffs again, drunk and suspicious. “How’s he got your number, Caroline?”
Because every other bar in a fifty mile radius does. Why the hell would Bishop’s be any different?
“You shacking up with him? That why you left me?” His eyes narrow. “You get yourself knocked up?”
I don’t bother answering; I know he’s not really listening. “Let me help you to the car.”
He doesn’t. I try, and he shoves me away again, sending me toppling backwards onto my palms, scraping them up too. Rising on wobbly feet, he leaves me on the ground and staggers to the car, wrenching the door open with such vigor, it creaks.
Hands and knees stinging, I push myself to my feet.
Bright side; he’s in the car. One step down.
“Seatbelt,” I remind quietly as I slip into the driver’s seat and secure my own.
“Fuck off.”
Oh, if only I could.
I stay silent as I start the engine, listening to the incoherent drunken rambling that the radio can’t quite drown out. He’s always done that; talked to himself beneath his breath, even back when he was sober. It's so... Dad to me. It used to be comforting. Amusing. Something Mom and I would tease him about. Now, it makes me sick and sad and so many other things that I'm too tired to feel.
He hates me—that's what he says now. Quietly, uncaringly, he calls me every vile name under the sun as if I'm not there.
I'm useless.
I'm stupid.
He wishes it was me instead of her.
By the time I pull up to the house, I'm numb. Too numb to hear any of the other names he calls me as I lug him up the driveway. It's a struggle, balancing him and shoving open the unlocked front door, but I do it, so there's another bright side. Another step complete.
The second we’re inside, Dad shoves me away and stumbles into the living room, as if being near me pains him as much as being near him pains me. He flops on the sofa without a word, without so much as a glance in my direction. Less than a minute later, the sound of his snores fill the room.
I want to cry. Looking around, I really want to cry. It's disgusting in here. Dirty and dark and gross. The home I grew up in was in a state of disrepair before I left but now, it's borderline unliveable.
I don't care.
I can’t care.
I'm going to turn myself around and get my ass out of here before I pick up a freaking disease.
That's what I tell myself as my feet carry me towards the cabinet under the kitchen sink where trash bags thankfully still live. It's what I tell myself as I fill up bag after bag, and when I do the mountain of dirty dishes piling up by the sink, and when I mop the sticky kitchen floor.
I don't care , I tell myself again and again and again, even as I prove I do.