Page 16 of Hearts at War

“No.” I narrowed my eyes, remembering all too well what happened when she ran to see me as a teenager. It was her first attempt at being a true runaway. Only fifteen, she traveled from Utah, where Gracie was living at the time, to Texas, where I was just going through the beginning of my separation and divorce from Veronica. I’d moved out to an apartment, and not thinking twice, I let Nevaeh crash in my spare bedroom when she showed up. Before I could get a hold of Gracie again, Nevaeh destroyed the place, letting some boyfriend of hers bring coke, get trashed, and had an epic breakdown there. The costs of repairs had been insane, and the fucking guy stole half my valuables, too.

“I don’t trust you to stay in my home when I’m not here.”

She flung herself upright, going from a sloth-like supine slouch to sitting with her back ramrod straight. Perhaps she tatted her makeup on so it’d be permanent. Despite her shower last night, the smoky darkness around her eyes remained, the metallic sheen and all.

“Oh, you don’t trust me now?” she retorted in a nasty snarl.

I leaned down calmly, looking her directly in her bloodshot eyes. “No.” I stated it simply, prepared for her to lash out.

“That’s bullshit, Roarke. Fucking bullshit.”

“And it’s tough shit for you. Start talking.”

She rolled her eyes.

“If you ever gave me a reason why I should trust you, I would.” Trusting a woman, whether she was new or familiar, young or old, wasn’t happening any time soon.

“I’m family.”

Don’t remind me. That was literally the only reason I hadn’t tossed her out. I had a heart, but it was battered and hardened from being taken advantage of too many times.

“Why are you here?”

She shrugged, making the other shoulder of her gothic shirts to droop that way. “I just needed a place to stay.”

“For just last night?”

She sneered. “What, you’re anxious to get rid of me already?”

Again, I didn’t sugar-coat or mince my words, sticking with the clear, direct, and brutally honest truth as briefly as possible.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Some uncle you are.”

I gritted my teeth, refusing to cave to her acting like an entitled brat. Determined to get answers, I repeated, “Are you intending to hang around here longer than just last night and now?”

She shrugged and yawned. “Yeah.”

“Here, specifically?” I pointed down at the floor.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” I crossed my arms. “What did you do now?”

Her mouth hung open after she scoffed. “That’s not nice. Don’t assume I’ve done anything.”

“That’s never the case,” I replied.

“And don’t talk down to me like I’m a kid.”

“You’re damned close to one. You act your age, I’ll treat you like an adult.”

She sulked, glaring at me. “I am an adult. I’m nineteen.”

But you’ve never been the brightest individual out there, have you? She’d never shown much promise in doing the right thing, so I wasn’t being an asshole to assume she was on the run or guilty of some kind of problem.

“What did you do?” I asked again.