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“Lola bear,” he’d said. An ice pick hit my stomach at the rarely used nickname. “This once. Please. And then I won’t bother you.” I sat there, thinking of the small savings I had. “It’s what your mom would have wanted.”
Looking back now, those words gut me. How fucking manipulative they were, how rehearsed and well thought out.
He knew.
He must have known, then, the promise I made to my mother on her deathbed. Knew and was saving the knowledge for a rainy day.
I still don’t know if it was his addiction speaking, that greed he couldn’t control, or if he truly never valued me more than as a money source.
That’s the part that hurts the most.
New Lola, the one I hadn’t met yet, had opened her mouth to argue, face going red with anger and rage, but I spoke before she could jump to my defense. And when I did, my voice—it didn’t sound like mine. It was tired, defeated.
Disappointed.
“This is the last time. I have nothing left, Dad. It happens again and you’re on your own. Don’t ask. I’mdone.”
That night I went to the bank, emptying the remains of my trust and dipping into my own savings, and drove an hour to meet with Johnny Vitale, who took the money with a strangely disappointing air to him.
It was also the night I decided I was done.
My wake-up call.
Something in my voice that day had to have been clear because he had agreed, and once I sent him a text telling him it was all done, he never asked for more. Never.
I never would figure out if it was the shame of knowing he and he alone had depleted my trust or that he genuinely knew I didn’t have the money.
But he never asked again, and I figured that he kept his word, his promise.
Stupid of me, I know, to assume that was it. That he changed without much more than a single push. I let my hope hang on his promises, hollow as I could now see they were. But anyone who has ever loved an addict can tell you that the promises are always there.
It’s the follow-through that isn’t.
Nine
-Ben-
When I walk aroundto the front of the store, having spent the entire day avoiding my coworker, Hattie stares at me. I can always tell when Hattie has something she wants to talk about, especially if she’s going to tease me about it. It’s her specialty, after all.
So much so, I’m pretty sure Tanner enjoys coming down to visit not to see me but to see my assistant and have a partner in crime when it comes to ragging on my ass.
I don’t have a sister, but I’m pretty sure if I had had one, this is exactly what it would have been like. Tanner and Hattie against me all day, every day.
I put down the cookie I’d been inspecting, resisting the temptation like if I bit in and enjoyed it, I’d have to confess that I’m an asshole.
Hattie’s glare turns into a smile.
Fuck.
I know that fucking smile.
“New girl is hot,” she says, her smile growing.
Jesus Christ.
One plate of cookies and that woman brewed up a pot of drama that I’m going to be facing for weeks.
Fucking great.
