Page 19 of Passion in Bloom

Domestic violence didn’t belong as a descriptor for Heather. Not on my watch.

“But she’s not being open,” he reminded me unnecessarily.

“I know. I know,” I agreed. “And I don’t think we’ll win any favors pressuring her.”

He chuckled. “Hey, man. I’m happily married. I’m not looking to win favors with her.”

I cringed, recalling how awkward I felt when I blurted about Heather and I keeping tabs on each other. Favors didn’t sound right.

“I’m not either. But maybe not push her too hard.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted the hopefulness in them. I was still hanging on to the hope that she would want to open up to me. That this draw wasn’t a one-sided phenomenon between us.

“Of course,” he said. Yet, I doubted he’d shirk in doing his job.

After I hung up with him and tossed my keys to my table, a weak knock sounded on the front door. Already armed with the heads up from Marty that my niece was coming my way, I was prepared for her to want something from me again.

The sight of her with hunched shoulders nearly got to me, but this wasn’t my first rodeo. This wasn’t my first experience with a woman trying to look like a victim just to better manipulate me into giving her what she wanted.

“Rough night?” I guessed, despite it being almost five-thirty in the evening now.

“I’m not old enough to drink,” she sassed with venom in her tone.

“I doubt that would stop you.” I held the door open wider.

“Jeez. Can you manage to not hate my guts for like three seconds? Kick me when I’m down, huh?”

“I’ve never hated you. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

She was always combative, and while I was used to it, my patience was shot. My tolerance for her bullshit was depleted.

“You coming in or not?” I asked, holding the door open wider.

“I don’t know. Am I even welcome?” she sneered.

“Take it or leave it. You’re family and I will always offer you my couch,” I growled. “But I am in no mood for your crap today. I’ve had it with your attitude, acting like you’re the innocent victim no matter what.”

She burped, covering her mouth, and I groaned as I hurried to get the trash can.

“Here.” I thrust it at her as she walked in.

“I’m not hungover,” she said snarkily as she headed to the couch and slumped on it.

“Sick?” I guessed. That wasn’t farfetched. Eric, and a couple of other guys, were out sick at the ranch. This was the season for germs to spread and take hold, after all.

“I dunno.” She shrugged. The motion concerned me even more, giving me a clearer view of how skinny she was.

“Fuck, Nevaeh. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Recently.”

I frowned. “Is it food poisoning?”

She shrugged.

Damn this shit! I crossed my arms, trying to not lash out. A roar built in my chest, full of all the fury at no one fucking saying anything. Heather. Her. Why did people have to be like this?

“Where have you been staying?” I asked, skeptical that she had the funding to be renting a place around Burton.