Chapter 12 #3
Mom’s recovery, much to my chagrin, is checking all the boxes of best-case scenario.
She’s having the predicted headaches that are manageable with over-the-counter pain medicine and is sleeping a lot more than usual, but she hasn’t had any nausea or severe symptoms. If I didn’t see the scar along her hairline, I’d never know she had surgery.
If she continues like this, I have no idea what I’ll do for the rest of my time here.
She might be back to work at the antique store within six weeks.
Even if I’m working on getting pregnant, the appointment proved that process will hardly take any time out of the twenty-four hours in my day.
Based on my cycle and time needed to vet the donors, my appointments don’t even start until October.
“So she has free time?” Gavin asks, innocent. “Here I thought she was very busy.”
“That’s what I tell all the little boys who can’t take a hint when I don’t want to hurt their feelings.”
He laughs.
“I’ll help,” Remy pipes in. “The kids and I can do whatever Mom needs after school and on the weekends. And I bet Rue can help too.” At my glare, she adds, “Just so you can help his mom. Right, Rue?”
Rue bats her lashes. “I’d love nothing more.”
I want to bang my head against the butcher-block countertop but instead check my phone, praying for an email with the subject line Come back to Chicago! There’s nothing. “I’ll think about it.”
“Nonsense,” Mom says. “You’ll do it.” I glare at her; she smiles at me. I would love nothing more than to hit her over her freshly cracked skull with a cast-iron skillet.
“I don’t know, Iris . . .” Gavin’s face fills with what I would dare call a challenge. “She doesn’t really seem up to it.”
I came here wanting to do three things: appease The Family, make sure Mom’s brain didn’t bust out of her sutures, and make a baby.
What I didn’t anticipate was so much free time.
I can only ride my Peloton, research babies, and reorganize the pantry so many times.
Gavin aside, the prospect of a project—some semblance of work, even if for a couple hours—is an unexpected gift.
And there’s no ignoring the bricks made of regret, guilt, and sadness stacking up in my gut from the reality of Amanda dying without me knowing.
If she were here and we had the drink I imagined us having just days ago, I would have helped if she asked.
If for no other reason than the years we spent together as kids. I would have said yes in an instant.
Also, I never, ever back down from a challenge.
“I can do it.”
“Now, Miss Reese,” Gavin says with a slight drawl, “I only want you to help if you want to.”
My backstabbing family falls silent, failing to hide how humorous they think this is.
“Don’t call me that,” I say through gritted teeth. “And I said I can.”
“So you want to?” he asks. “Just so I understand. You know it takes me a while, so you really have to spell it out.” His face twists in mock confusion, and he taps his temple with his index finger.
I blow out an annoyed breath that only adds fuel to his fire.
“Because it sounds like you’re saying that you”—he points at me—“want to come with me”—he points at himself—“because you have free time and want to spend said time with me.” He grins. “And my mom, of course.”
I make the mistake of looking at Remy, and she’s smiling so big I nearly gag.
Say yes, she mouths.
“Yes,” I reluctantly say.
“Yes, what?”
This asshole.
“Yes, Gavin. I want to come with you and help your mom. Happy now?”
“Okay, okay.” He waves his hands. Why am I fighting a smile? “No need to beg. I’m heading over there to get Addie. What about now?”
His eyes on mine make something happen in my belly. Gavin Nickels, illiterate child turned lawn man just manipulated me into saying what he wanted me to say in front of my family. I’ll never admit it to Remy, but I bet all cleaned up he could melt a pair of panties clean off.
In my pause, Remy catches my attention with a weird face.
I mouth, What?
She mouths, He’s hot, and fans her face.
I mock rocking a baby in my arms. He’s a child.
She pokes the index finger of one hand through a circle she makes with her other.
It’s a mistake to look at Gavin, but I do anyway. His beard is twitching, clearly having witnessed the whole exchange.
“Fine,” I say, not at all humiliated. “Now is fine.”
“Eager little thing, ain’t she, Iris?” he asks with a smirk.
Mom snorts. “You wouldn’t believe the half of it.”
To me, he says, “I’ll drive.”
If he thinks I’m letting him have one ounce of control in this beyond what just happened, he has another think coming. I snatch Mom’s keys—complete with a rabbit’s foot key ring—from the counter. “No.”
He answers with a smirk then strolls toward the door. Behind his back, Remy does pelvic thrusts and drops her head back with a silent orgasm.
I gouge one of her eyes until she screams then slam the door in their faces.
The three of them laugh like the assholes they are.
I settle in the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition as grown-up Gavin stuffs himself into the passenger side. His sheer size shrinks the already small car. I can barely handle being in here alone, now he’s stealing half the space.
Grass. Gavin. My own demise. Sweat. Desert sand. I am not trapped.
After a deep breath, I roll the windows down.
He grins. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“No,” I snap.
Then, I drive.