15
Emery
“Crap!” The vase hitsthe edge of the counter, glass shooting everywhere as it breaks on the tile floor.
I tip my head back and close my eyes as Charlie's scream pierces through the quiet afternoon. I just got her down for her nap ten minutes ago, and since I’m running on less than two hours of sleep, I’m exhausted.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. I can get through this. After all, I've gotten through worse.
My shoulders sag as I tiptoe through the glass shards scattered on the kitchen floor and make my way into the living room. Charlie wrestles around in her bassinet, not settling when I pick her up.
“Of course you’re tired.” I brush a finger over her cheek and hum softly. “That’s what happens when you keep Mommy up all night.”
Her nose scrunches. She’s exhausting but adorable.
Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes of rocking her before her lashes flutter closed, and she settles back into her dreams. But I don’t set her down right away. I cradle her close, humming her favorite song until she’s fully asleep.
“Don't worry.” I skim my fingertip over the ridge of her nose. “We'll get through this like we always do. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
I don't know if I'm saying it to her or myself. I’d like to think I’m safe here. Hayes seems certain of it. But I know better than to trust anything too good.
Outside, a motorcycle rumbles down the street, passing the house and any dashing hope that it might be Hayes. He left two days ago, and I’m anxious for him to get back into town. Tempe explained the guys were awaytaking care of businessbut skirted around what exactly that means. Either she doesn’t know, or they’re still being careful around me, given who my uncle is and my temporary status of living in Hayes’s house.
I understand either way, and I probably don’t want to know what Hayes is up to. While the Twisted Kings don’t deal in the same businesses as my uncle, it’s clear that not everything they do is legal.
Does it matter so long as Charlie is safe? So long as she has her father in her life?
Setting Charlie in her bassinet, I head back into the kitchen to clean up the broken glass. The shards blend into the checkered tile, making it difficult to find all the pieces. When I stretch my fingers under the stove to graba shard, I cut my palm on a clear shard of glass I didn’t notice.
“Ouch.” I clutch my hand to my chest.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
I jump at the voice coming from behind. My heartbeat hammers between my temples as I shoot to my feet and spin around. Hayes towers in the doorway to the kitchen, worry etched on his face.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” He takes a step back. “I didn't mean to scare you. I came in and saw this…”
He waves his hand at the mess on the floor, and guilt sweeps through me. He shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself. This is his house.I’mthe guest here.
It’s not Hayes’s fault I’m jumpy from years of not trusting my surroundings. While my uncle kept his business associates at a distance, he wasn’t always around. When he’d leave the room or look away, their gazes would trail me. Once, I found a camera in one of my stuffed animals. I still don’t know who was watching, just that someone always was.
“It’s okay, I’m fine.” I force a smile, my hands still shaking. “I broke a vase and cut myself picking it up. I’m so clumsy sometimes.”
I squat to continue sweeping up the glass with my bloody hand when Hayes rushes forward, stopping me.
“I’ll get it.” He turns my hand over in his. “We need to get this bandaged. And you need shoes. There’s glass everywhere.”
Of course there is. He’s been gone two days, and now he’s returned to a bleeding mess. It was too much to think I could pretend for his sake that I’m holding it together.
I sink back on my heels and sigh, meeting his stare. The mosaic of green and gold spikes my racing heart. Leather and cologne flood my senses. The faint hint of cigarette smoke hangs on his clothes, but it’s not heady enough for me to think it’s because he was the one smoking.
My shoulders deflate. “You’re home.”
“Just in time, it seems.” His smile is gentle as he brushes a strand from my cheek.
The gentlest graze of his fingertips against the shell of my ear has my arms prickling. My belly fluttering. Until he pulls away, and the room is suddenly cooler.
After my mother died, I forgot how it felt to be hugged. To be loved. To be held. With her gone, I was submerged in my uncle’s world, where touch was something to be feared.
