And now she’s going back to him?
I know how easy it is to get stuck in the cycle, no matter what the person has done or how much time and space you put between them, but what the hell is she thinking?
And she couldn’t at least talk to me about it?
She’s putting her guard up, and that scares the shit out of me.
I’m still leaning back on the door when the doorknob wiggles, and then I hear a knock.
I’m too mad to hear her explanation or apology or whatever she’s coming back for.Ifthat’s what she’s even coming back for.
Maybe she just forgot something.
Without turning around, I turn the deadbolt, kick off my shoes, and head into the kitchen with Evee. I hear the door open behind me, but I don’t turn around, not even wanting to look at her right now.
I set Evee down in her high chair as I hear Ava close the door, but she doesn’t follow me into the kitchen right away.
And she doesn’t say anything.
So neither do I.
Grabbing a pot, I fill it with water, turning on the gas stove and setting the pot on the burner. It’s immature and petty toignore her, but I can’t help it—focusing on making a quick dinner for Evee and me, pulling out a box of pasta.
Finally, footsteps slowly approach.
That’s weird.
No matter how pissed Ava is, she wouldn’t keep her shoes on in the house.
The footsteps quicken, and they sound heavy, not like the heels she had on.
But before I can turn around, I feel a large, cold hand grip my shoulder hard enough to make me yelp in pain.
The person turns me around, and I feel a sudden, shocking jolt of pain in my cheek. A sharp burst of pressure knocks me back, causing my vision to blur, and I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the counter. Whoever it is—a man?—is yelling at me, but I’m too disoriented to register what they’re saying.
I hear Evee wail over the bellowing as I try to blink away the tears forming in my eyes, but, before I can even register it’s happening, another punch comes, and then it all goes silent—and black.
CHAPTER 40
JACK
“That’s not your usual book,”Anderson says as he flops next to me on the couch. The clean-up crew for this week just finished tidying up after dinner, the lemon and lavender scent from the all-purpose cleaner still lingering in the air. “And why do you have a pen to read? Taking notes on scenes you want to act out with acertainsomeone?” I turn to see him wiggling his brows.
I set my pen and the book I’m annotating down on my lap, lifting my reading glasses off my nose before looking right at Anderson. “Why don’t you tell me what exactly you’re implying, so I can be sure you deserve it when I punch you square in the jaw.”
Anderson puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll shut up.”
I nod, appeased, and put my reading glasses back on, picking my book and pen back up.
I’m currently rereading theTwilightbooks, having mentioned to my mom how Rumi has never read them. She was so excited to dig up her old copies for me to give to her.
Initially, I thought about just bringing them over when I go see Rumi after I’m done with this shift tomorrow morning; however, my curiosity got the best of me—wondering if I’d enjoythe books as much as I did when I read the first of the series for my mom’s book club and then the rest on my own.
With some down time today, I picked up the first book and immediately knew Rumi would like it. I’ve read a few of her paranormal romance books in the last few months, and this is right up her alley in young adult form. I thought it would be fun to put my thoughts in the margins and underline my favorite lines in hopes that it’ll make the books she’s refused to read even more enjoyable.
Her refusal started off with the argument against Ava that there were other books she wanted to readmore, but ever since finding out both Emerson and I have ampleTwilightknowledge, I think Rumi’s refusal is more out of stubbornness and not letting Ava win.
Anderson joins another conversation with the other guys on the couch, and I go back to my reading, trying to not let my mind wander the same way it has since seeing Rumi this morning.
