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Lachlan
I stared at the rocks glass sitting on the coffee table, the scotch I’d poured barely touched. I’d wanted something to help dull the sting from Julia’s words. But I doubted anything could ever ease the pain from hearing her say she’d never be able to give me her heart.
That she’d never love me.
That Nick would always have his claws in her.
Since returning from the prison hours ago, Julia’s words had continually replayed in my mind, causing my anger and frustration to increased with each repetition.
And with each repetition, my need to dull the pain grew stronger. Reaching my breaking point, I reached for my glass, about down the scotch when the doorbell rang.
I opened the doorbell app on my phone, jumping to my feet when I saw Imogene standing there, her bike leaning against my porch railing.
Dread snaked through me as I darted to the front door, flinging it wide, my panicked expression meeting hers.
“Imogene, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets, a nervousness about her.
“Are you okay?”
My gaze raked over her, making sure she was okay after riding her bike all the way here, which I knew for a fact her mother would kill her for.
“I’m fine.”
“And your mum?” I asked, unsure how much Imogene knew about what happened today. Not only the fact that Julia had gone to see Nick, but also about our argument.
And the things I’d said.
“She’s…okay.”
“Okay.” I pushed out a relieved breath. “Then what—”
“I know she went to see him today,” she blurted.
“You do?”
“Auntie Naomi came over this afternoon. As I’m sure you’re aware, she’s not exactly…soft-spoken.” She snorted a subtle laugh.
I shook my head, chuckling. “She’s certainly not.” I stepped back, pulling the door wide. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” She gave me a small smile as she entered.
A smile that was nearly identical to her mother’s, regardless of what that narcissistic sociopath wanted to believe. When I looked at Imogene, I didn’t see any piece of that bastard. She had her mother’s influence all over her.
Not her father’s.
“Want something to drink? Water? Coffee? Whatever it is fourteen-year-old kids drink?”
She rolled her eyes, her attitude peeking through. “Water’s fine.”
I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the fridge, handing it to her.
“So, want to tell me why you’re here?” I asked.
She parted her lips, that same contemplative look Julia often got crossing her expression. “Mama hasn’t told you a lot about…before, has she?”
I briefly sucked in a breath, unsure what to tell her. What Julia would want me to tell her. But I wasn’t going to lie.
