8. Melanie
melanie
It’s been three days.
Three days since our house was broken into and our world was turned upside down…again.
Garth has been working hard to get everything fixed enough that we can move back in, but I know it’s going to be a lot longer than a few days for me to ever feel safe in the walls of my home again.
The cops aren’t any closer to working out who did it.
They took both mine and Oakley’s fingerprints—an experience I wish my child never had to go through.
The next day, they turned up with grim faces, shaking their heads, informing me they hadn’t been able to lift any prints that didn’t belong to us.
They’d asked me all sorts of questions, trying to get some sort of lead or suspect, but there was no clear motive other than pure destruction.
The only people I have any kind of beef with are Davis and Marcy, and the cops assured me their alibi is airtight.
I tried to convince Cale more than once that it would be for the best if Oakley and I went to a motel, but he point-blank refused.
He even went as far as to threaten to steal my keys and, when that hadn’t been enough to convince me, he sank as low as bribing Oakley with fried chicken.
My son had turned big watery eyes on me, begging to let us stay.
Apparently, my kid is an easy sell. Fried chicken isn’t even his favorite takeout. I’d need to have words with him about sticking to our guns until we got the best offer, not just the first one. If he had tried a little harder, he probably would’ve been able to swindle ice cream out of Cale too.
I swore to myself that I’d stay out of Cale’s bed after that first night. He made it clear he isn’t looking for anything serious, and it wasn’t a lie when I said I wasn’t either. Getting tangled up in anyone—especially someone who lives next door—isn’t worth the drama in a small town like this one.
I’m still recovering from everything that happened with Davis.
All it would take is just one person seeing Cale and me, and it would spread like wildfire.
People wouldn’t talk about me with kindness—Rosie and Nell have proven beyond a doubt that the circumstances don’t matter to the gossip vultures.
Not if there’s someone easy to blame. I refuse to put Oakley in a position of having to deal with the casual cruelty that kids are plucking right from their parents’ beaks.
My promises to myself turned out to be worth as much as the paper they weren’t written on because every night, after Oakley fell asleep, I found myself naked and tangled in Cale’s sheets, his body covering mine, and his hand slapped over my mouth, muffling my cries.
So, the promise changed to staying out of his bed after we got back into our house, knowing it’d be easier to resist the magnetic pull of his dark eyes when I had some space from him, his drawling voice, and the cocky smirk that made me want to sink my teeth into his bottom lip.
The insurance money came in this morning.
I dropped Oakley at school before driving the hour into Ashland to pick up a new laptop, which is a complete weight off my shoulders.
I still haven’t been able to convince Cale that I don’t need the over-the-top security system he’s intent on installing, or that he should let me pay for it.
Now, Garth has been dodging my questions about the invoices for the repair work and the bathroom floor.
Shelving my annoyance at men in general, I pull into the school parking lot just before the final bell goes. I find Rosie easily enough, coming to stand beside her and following her stare to the crowd gathered at the front steps. “Hey. What’s happening over there?”
“The bake sale again,” she murmurs. “Marcy’s rounding up anyone who hasn’t already signed up, even though it’s next week. She’s saying if you’re not volunteering baked goods, you have to help in another way.” She slides a look my way.
“She wants donations?” I ask. She dips her chin. “Can it even be called a donation if she’s coercing it out of people?” Rosie doesn’t respond, her teeth worrying her lip. I touch her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She gives me a wobbly smile. “It’s been a rough week. Not as rough as you, though! I still can’t believe something like that would happen in Sterling Creek.”
I sigh. “No place is truly safe,” I mumble, watching as Marcy’s vicious eyes narrow in our direction.
“There are assholes everywhere. Speaking of…” She follows my stare, her shoulders straightening as she realizes that Marcy is striding purposefully in our direction.
Out of the corner of my mouth, I tell Rosie, “Don’t let her get to you. ”
Marcy’s blonde hair hangs in straight lines around her face as she stares down her nose at us. “Rosie. Mellie,” she says loudly, and my eye immediately starts twitching.
“Melanie,” I correct politely, only the slightest edge of irritation lacing my voice.
She frowns. “What?”
“My name is Melanie,” I enunciate clearly. “Not Mellie.”
Her pink-glossed mouth tightens, creases appearing in her cheeks before she smooths her expression out. “Oh. Well, I guess I’m just used to Davis calling you that.”
This bitch.
Her tone is superior, smug, as she rubs it in my face that she stole my husband, as if he’s some kind of prize she won.
Marcy doesn’t get that I don’t want him.
Anyone who is willing to throw away a decade-long relationship by fucking around behind my back isn’t someone I want touching me again.
I don’t even like breathing the same air as him, and when I start thinking about how he’s been treating Oakley… my thoughts turn downright murderous.
“Of course,” I say evenly, giving no sign of my inner agitation.
“Why wouldn’t you use my ex-husband’s nickname for me?
Even if it was the name he’d cry out when we were in bed together.
” Rosie ducks her head, trying to muffle the snort that tries to escape her nose.
“It’s not weird at all, right, Marcy? In fact, why don’t you tell me Davis’s nickname for you, and then we’ll call it even. ”
Her face goes a splotchy red. I don’t look away from her, refusing to give even an inch of ground. After a tense pause, she sucks in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, and then she paints a fake smile on her bee-stung lips.
“I noticed that neither of you has signed up for the bake sale…in any capacity. I know you’re aware how important events like this are for our children and the school.
” There’s a pause, like she’s expecting us to jump in with apologies, but we don’t say a word.
“So, your choices are providing baked goods”—she eyes Rosie dubiously—“or helping out on the day with setting up and cleaning. Or”—her smile is more a baring of teeth—“you could just put your name down for a generous donation and be done with it.” Her mouth pops open, eyes flaring as they lock on me.
“I know this week has been rough for you,” she says, tone full of false sympathy.
“We have to think of the children, even in times of stress.”
“Wonder if she thinks of the children when she’s breaking up marriages on her back.
” A choked sound escapes me as I flick a desperate glance at Rosie, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Did I say that out loud? Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.
” The splotchiness on Marcy’s face has spread, her eyes bulging out until it looks like her head might pop right off her neck.
I stifle another noise of amusement. “Can’t tell you that, honey, but I’m not mad about it either.”
“Are you serious?” Marcy hisses, eyes spitting fire. Her head swivels like an owl, searching to see if anyone else heard the faux pas. “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“I don’t think she was speaking to you,” I point out reasonably. “If anything, you were eavesdropping on a private conversation she was having with herself.”
Marcy’s hands actually curve into claws at her sides, like she’s thinking of scratching my eyes out. Before she can do something stupid, the front doors of the school open, and a stampede of children surges down the steps, catching her attention.
“Thanks for the chat, Marcy,” I tell her. “Maybe next time, send one of your minions to talk to us about the bake sale. Might be in the best interest of all our health, hm?”
She flattens her mouth until her lips all but disappear. Marcy doesn’t say another word. Instead, she spins on the heel of her bright white sneaker and stomps back toward the other parents who have been standing shoulder to shoulder, watching us with avid interest.
Rosie’s shoulders shake, her eyes wide and mouth trembling as she turns to stare at me. “Did I just call the PTA president a whore? Right to her face?”
I think back. “No, but you definitely implied it.”
She fans her face with one hand. “Well, that’s something, at least, because I was definitely thinking the word whore.” She shakes her head, shooting me a helpless look. “No wonder they all hate me.”
I spot Nell and Oakley walking toward us, their mouths moving a mile a minute. I wrap an arm around Rosie’s shoulders, tugging her against me in a quick hug. “They don’t hate you,” I tell her. “They’re just small-minded idiots, and one day, they’ll see that.”
I pull the car into my driveway just as Cale and Garth walk out the open front door, both wearing toolbelts slung low over their hips. My eyes catch on Cale, watching as he swaggers down the front steps, his expression serious as he talks to his friend, and something tightens in my belly.
I had almost hoped that after I satisfied this urge with him, the attraction would fizzle out—that I’d fuck him out of my system. If anything, the chemistry only seems to have increased.