It took a lot for me to feel physically ill. But this woman managed to churn my stomach with one look and one sentence. She was so different than Kate; I wondered if one of them might’ve been adopted.
There was no way these two women came from the same parents.
“Oh, shut it, Eleanor.”
The scary one waltzed into the kitchen, bumping Eleanor’s shoulder as she passed. The latter huffed out a breath and mumbled something about finding a guy named Bryce, then she slinked out of the kitchen.
“Still in the picture, I see.” Arms crossed in front of her, the scary one scrutinized me from head to toe. I didn’t remember her name. Easy to do when the only name I cared about was Kate’s. “And meeting the parents.” Her gaze shifted to Kate. “Things must be going well? Really well, if Mrs. Humphreys is to be believed.”
Kate’s sigh was heavy and loaded. “She came to you too? You think she’ll go see Eleanor as well? Or maybe she already has. Ugh. And you know she’ll say whatever the heck pops into her head without thinking. What a freaking mess this turned out to be.”
She was spiraling. It happened the first time we ran into the social worker. That night, I’d managed to calm her with a simple touch. Hoping it’d work this time too; I ran my free hand over hers and laced our fingers.
It took a few seconds, but her breathing slowly evened out.
Her sister stared at our hands then arched a brow at me. Whatever question she had was lost when Millie raced into the kitchen.
“Tristan, will you swing me?” She stared at me with those big green eyes filled with hope.
Yet again, I was thrown back to my own childhood and the memory of looking up at my father and asking him to play ball with me. He hadn’t even spared me a glance, simply shooed me away like I was a bothersome insect.
I refused to be like him.
Tilting my head, I glanced at Kate. Her body was tight with tension, but fuck me, the smile on her lips when her focus shifted to her little girl nearly did me in. This woman was messing with my head and other parts of my body in a way I wasn’t remotely prepared for. She’d somehow burrowed beneath my skin and crawled to corners I had no idea existed.
For the first time in my fucking life, I would do anything for a woman to smile at me like that.
For Kate to smile at me like that.
It was fucking unnerving. And the reason why I had to put some distance between us.
“Yeah, princess,” I finally said to Millie. “Let’s go.”
Trailing behind her on our way to the backyard, various photos lined the wall. None of the frames matched, and there was nothing artistic in the way they were arranged.
My mother would rather die than have mismatched decorations in her house. But then again, framed photos never graced our walls. She didn’t care about capturing the happy moments like the Riveras had.
The only time we took pictures was when some magazine wanted to do a piece on my parents. They’d smile and use me as a prop, pretending I was the best thing in their lives until the journalists left.
The memories scathed my insides. Like swallowing broken glass, they scratched and sliced at wounds that weren’t supposed to be there. My chest ached.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath. I needed to snap out of whatever the heck that was.
“You said a bad word.” Millie giggled at me over her shoulder. “Kate says it too when she thinks I can’t hear her.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned. “What else does Kate say?”
We stepped outside. Mr. Rivera leaned back in his Adirondack while Eleanor and who I presumed to be Bryce spoke to him. His gaze landed on me and Millie then drifted to where the little girl’s hand was clutched in mine.
His face softened, and I could’ve sworn when his eyes met mine there was respect there. An uncomfortable unease slid between my ribs and settled deep in my bones.
“She cries at night,” Millie said.
I waited until she was settled on the tire swing attached to the oak tree in the corner of the yard before I asked, “What was that, princess?”
“Kate.” Millie kicked her feet. “She cries at night. Sometimes in the morning in the shower too.”
Why did the image of Kate alone in her room with tears running down her face hurt so damn much? Wasn’t that the question that started this whole fucking thing? I’d been so obsessed with figuring out where her sadness had come from, I’d started something that would only end in more tears...for her.
