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“And scotch, apparently.”
I leaned against the counter once again, my fingers tight on the handle. “The coffee is to stay awake. The scotch, to sleep.”
Like she understood, she gave a nod. “I drink scotch to forget…even though it never works.”
Nothing ever worked. I’d tried it all. “I’ve decided to put Claire back in school. She starts after the weekend.”
“Oh, good. She’s excited to go back.”
“Yeah.” I questioned whether it was the right move, but I couldn’t hog her forever. She seemed well, and holding her back from normal life was selfish on my part. If she had any residual anxiety, it would probably improve if she was around her friends again, doing normal things like finger painting and math…even though she hated math.
“How do you want to handle that?”
“I’m working nights now. You’ll need to drop her off in the morning and pick her up afterward.”
“That’s fine.”
“And let the housekeeper in during the day so she can take care of the apartment.”
“Well…I can clean.”
“It’s fine.”
“It could save you money—”
“I don’t need to save money.”
She dropped her gaze to her coffee, blew the steam away, and took a drink. “What about your contracting business?”
“It’s over.”
“Maybe you should do jobs here and there, keep up the pretense.”
The last thing I wanted to do was work two jobs.
“I can help too. You know, scheduling, ordering supplies, bookkeeping, whatever…”
I contemplated the idea with dread. I was already a father and a Chasseur. Now I had to take on small jobs just so Claire could think I was a good man who did honest work. But I didn’t see another alternative. How would I explain my absence as she got older? “Alright.” My hand slid into my pocket, and I pulled out a wad of cash along with a debit card. I set it on the counter beside her then backed away once more.
She took it and examined the bills. “What’s this?”
“For anything that you need.”
She examined it a moment longer before returning it to the counter. “I still have some of the money you gave me before.”
“That won’t last forever.”
“Um…for me, it will.” Her mug remained in one hand, the steam still a cloud hitting her face. “I’ve lived on a dancer’s salary. I definitely know how to budget.” She left the money there, no intention of taking it.
“Just take it.” I didn’t have the temperament to do this. It reminded me of the check dance. It’d been a long time since I’d been on a date, and I hated dates. I hated talking. I hated people. I hated bullshit.
“But I don’t need it—”
“You’ll need the card to pay for things for both of you. Just accept it.”
“You saved my life, so you don’t need to pay me—”
“You can show your gratitude by accepting it instead of wasting my time with this bullshit conversation.”
A wince moved onto her face.
I stared her down, unapologetic even though I was fully aware I was a heartless dick.
The mug remained between her fingertips, her eyes piercing mine as much as mine were piercing hers.
I refused to look away first, so I waited for her to bow out.
She didn’t.
Her silent disobedience annoyed me, and I was certain that reflected on my face, the tightness in my jaw, the way I ground my teeth together. “Yes?” The word came out, hard like a rock.
“Just waiting for an apology.” She brought the mug to her lips and took a drink.
The smirk was instinctive. The scoffing breath was too. With my coffee in hand, I walked out.
I put Claire to bed, tucked her in with a kiss on the forehead, and then returned to the sitting room in front of the fireplace. The flames burned low, and I stared at them as I waited for them to snuff out.
The decanter of scotch was there, but I didn’t fill my glass.
Constance emerged from the hallway, in sweatpants and a t-shirt that she’d bought with the money she finally accepted me from me. The clothes actually fit her, and I finally had my shit back.
She watched me for a bit, her slender arms crossed over her chest, her petite waist cinched underneath.
I ignored her stare for a while before I met it head on.
She didn’t flinch at my look like most people did. She didn’t take my bullshit like most people did either, but she also didn’t lose her composure, which was pretty telling. She sat in the armchair beside me and glanced at the untouched scotch.
“Used a gun before?”
Her eyes flicked to me, her eyebrows slightly raised. “Just a knife…”
“Want one?”
Her eyes held mine for a moment, in slight disbelief. “I don’t think I should have one around Claire.”
“You could keep it in a safe in your bedroom if you want.”
“Do you think…I’ll need one?”
“No.” No one ever crossed me. “It’s for your peace of mind.”
