Chapter 14
“Honey! I’m home!” I sing-song as I swing open the door to our apartment. It’s a joke, of course, and pretending it’s real doesn’t hurt anyone but me.
But what awaits in the living room isn’t what I was expecting.
“What the fuck! Get off of her!” I storm over to the wall where my doll’s cowering.
“Connor, it’s okay. It’s nothing,” Delilah says quietly.
“Like hell it’s nothing.” I’m not one to get physical with a woman, but I have no qualms grabbing Ivy by the shoulders and yanking her away from Delilah.
“You…stupid son of a…bitch. This is between…me and my kid,” Ivy slurs.
Jesus, how drunk is she?
“You don’t get to come into my home and come at my girl. I don’t give a fuck if you’re her mom.” I snap my fingers and point at the couch telling Ivy to sit like the bitch she is. Thankfully she obeys because I don’t want to manhandle her.
Delilah crumples into my arms just as I reach out for her. Heaving sobs shake her frail body. My arms may be the only thing holding her together right now.
“I’m so sorry, Connor,” she sobs. “It’s my fault. I didn’t check the peep hole like you’ve been telling me to, and when I opened the door, she shoved her way past me and refused to leave. I know you don’t want her here. Please don’t be mad.”
Oh, my sweet doll. I’m not mad at her. I’m furious at Ivy for putting her in this position. I kiss her forehead, “Never, doll. I’m not mad at you. Wait for me in the bedroom, okay?”
“What? No! Connor, it’s okay. I can handle this.”
“I know you can, but you aren’t going to.” I calmy convey this isn’t up for negotiation.
Without another word, Delilah peels herself from my body and scurries to our bedroom with her head down. Goddamn it. I hate seeing her shrivel from Ivy’s poison.
The witch tilts her head back to see my face, because I’m towering over her seated position on the couch.
“You have thirty seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”
“Fuck y—”
“Twenty-five seconds. You’re wasting time, Ivy.”
“This is your…fault. You…took her away…from me. I need her.” She sways in her seat.
“You don’t need her, you need her paycheck.”
Ivy’s eyes dart away, revealing her guilt. She only ever wants one thing. And to scare the shit out of her daughter to get it, is disgusting.
“Get a fucking job, Ivy. You’re too old for this shit. Grow up and stop harassing your daughter.”
“I just need…a few hundred…and I won’t bother…her anymore.” Is she fucking kidding?
“She isn’t giving you a dime, and we both know you’re full of shit. You never learn. Get the fuck out of my apartment.” I point at the door and stare her down until she takes the hint. She rises slowly and wobbles before planting her feet.
“You…can’t keep her…from me. I’m…her mother.”
“I can. And I will. You’re not her mother—you’re a waste of oxygen. Get. Out.”
Ivy stumbles to the front door, flips me the bird, and slams it behind her.
I need to take a minute to cool off before I check on Delilah. I don’t want her to see me like this, it’s bad enough she probably heard the entire interaction. My hands scrub up and down my tired face, and I roll my head cracking my neck.
It’s unbelievable. Just when I think she can’t stoop any lower, Ivy proves me wrong.
I find Delilah in fetal position on our bed, clutching her pillow. I climb into bed with her, despite desperately needing a shower after work, and shield her from the pain with my body.