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“I’m not paying for a whole cake.” Ah, there was always something to be displeased over.
“You don’t have to pay for any of it.” I closed the lid, ensuring it was secure, and slid the box toward him. “Who is all this cake for?”
He was a thin man, not that that necessarily meant anything. Mr. Hardaway could have a high metabolism. Or maybe he could just eat a lot. I’d seen him devour my cake on many an occasion. Initially, I’d thought when he got testy about not having a particular flavor, it was him just being ornery. But the more I turned it over in my head, the more I was convinced he took some of the cake to someone else. He was pissed off on their behalf when I was out of their favorite flavor.
“Me.” He snatched the box and held it tight. Before he left, he shoved a wad of bills into the tip jar and then stomped off.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Hardaway,” I called.
He threw a hand up in his version of a wave. I smiled to myself. Another happy customer. And even though my heart was bruised and broken, I knew I could rise above that. I had Ella. I had a purpose. I would survive.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Andrew
“How canyou of all people take up for her?”
I missed my glass when I tried to pick it up, and my father gave me a sympathetic look. I clutched it on the second attempt and swallowed back a little more.
We’d been at this a few hours, and the distortion alcohol provided had set in. My mind was fuzzy, my body a tranquil numb.
“Every situation isn’t like the one with your mother.”
My jaw dropped. She was an off-limits topic. He’d walked away from me not that long ago when I mentioned I’d seen her. Maybe it was the haze I was in, but he didn’t have the sour look on his face he usually did when she came up.
“She’s married.” I’d said it no less than a thousand times today, and it still hadn’t sunk in.
The more I drank, the more I pictured her perfect life. A husband who was home for dinner every night. Doted on her and their baby. Brought her flowers for no reason. Made sure they had a date night once a week. And she surprised him with lunch sometimes. Never mind that she had the food truck. In my head, she was the perfect wife and mother.
“We know,” Holt moaned.
We’d gone toe to toe in the alcohol consumption department and were miles ahead of Patrick and Dad.
“I thought you were here for support,” I snapped at Holt.
“I am, but I didn’t know you would go on about this for hours. Either keep seeing her or move on.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Holt, why don’t you go order us another appetizer and some water.”
My brother did as he was told without complaint.
“Am I whining?” I asked.
“A little,” Patrick said. “But there’s really nothing much worse she could have done to you.”
He’d skipped going back to work, despite the big case looming over his head. I’d turned off my own phone after the fifth call from Victor. I was in no shape to talk. Probably would have dumped my woes on him if I had answered.
“Give her a chance to explain, son.” Dad chewed on a piece of whiskey-coated ice.
“What’s to explain? I can’t stay with her if she belongs to someone else.” That was the crux of it. She could never be mine as long as she was married to another. I couldn’t share her. Couldn’t stand knowing when she wasn’t with me, she’d be with him.
Herhusband.
“Then Holt is right, man. You gotta figure out a way to let her go.” Patrick polished off his own drink and grabbed one of the shots in the middle of the table. “Mr. Dixon?” He held up the glass to my dad, who picked up one of his own.
Neither of them scolded me when I joined in, though I knew I was going over the edge.
“You could’ve waited for me,” Holt said when he returned with four waters and four more whiskeys. He snatched a shot and tossed it down his throat.
