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Dressing hurriedly, I open Snow’s door, but she’s not in there.
Where did she go?
As I rush into the kitchen, London turns to me, clearly noticing my panic.
“Snow’s feeding the chickens,” he says, hiking his thumb toward the back door before I can even get a word out.
Running a hand through my hair, I sigh with relief.
“When the yelling started, I scooped her up and took her down the back stairs, asking her to do it to keep her occupied. I knew the fighting would scare her.”
“Fuck.” I place my hands on my head and pace the length of the room.
“Ivy’s gone.” London studies my reaction as he leans against the counter.
“Good.” I drop my hands, taking in a deep breath. And I mean it. I’m glad she’s gone. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks, handing me a cup of coffee.
“She was cheating on me.” I slug back a drink, burning my tongue. At this point, it doesn’t faze me.
“Well, fuck.” London sets his mug on the counter, raking a hand down his face. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“The argument started because she told me to put Snow in a facility.”
“What the fuck?”
“That’s what I said. I asked her why she’s been a bitch lately and found my answer.”
“I’m sorry, man.” London pats my shoulder.
I’m drinking coffee, but after what happened with Ivy, I think I need something stronger. Whiskey would be nice. “It is what it is.”
“She did say she wanted to talk to someone,” London reminds me, changing the subject back to Snow.
“Ariel can do it.”
“Ariel?” he questions with a skeptical expression.
“She’s in school to be a therapist or something. I think it would make Snow more comfortable since she can come here. She’s not licensed or anything, but she’s a friend.”
“I agree,” London says, opening the fridge.
The room is immersed in silence for a second—except for the sound of London rummaging for food, as always.
“We need to go to the store,” London says, shutting the refrigerator door with a leftover sandwich in hand.
“Stop eating so much.” I snort, glad to be talking about something other than my fucked-up relationship.
He snickers after taking a huge bite of pulled BBQ chicken. “Can’t help that the cook is awesome.”
London has been living with me for a while now, and we’ve become close. I like having him around.
“I need to stock up anyways, and I have Ever’s party coming up.” I sigh.
“Totally forgot about that,” he says, slapping his forehead.
My little girl is pregnant—about to pop—and I’m excited to be a grandpa. We’re throwing a congratulatory party in lieu of a baby shower.
