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“Go away,” I shouted, covering my ears.
No such luck.
I staggered from the chair I’d fallen asleep in, tripped over the whiskey bottle lying on the floor, and stumbled to the front door.
“Whatever you’ve got, I don’t want,” I said as I threw it open.
“Believe me, you do,” Marlow muscled past me, Blake in tow.
I trailed her to the kitchen. He grinned at me over her shoulder. I made a funny face back to which he responded with a happy shriek. A stab of pain shot straight through my skull at the noise, but that grin made it worth it.
“Mind holding him?” She already had Blake against my chest.
I took him and sank onto a barstool at the island.
She unloaded the reusable grocery bag she’d brought and rummaged through all my cabinets, banging a couple of skillets on the countertop.
“Please. Come to my house at—what time is it anyway?”
“Six thirty.”
“Six thirty. Make as much noise as you want.” I massaged my temples.
She tossed me a withering look before opening the refrigerator. “Please. Text me at—what time was it? Oh, one in the morning.”
“I won’t make that mistake again,” I muttered.
“Do you make a habit of getting drunk?”
“Have you seen me blitzed?”
“Not often. But I don’t know what you do most of the time.” She tossed some butter into a skillet. Three clicks popped as she turned on the gas eye.
“I hardly think you’re in a position to chastise me about my drinking habits.”
“Just say what you really want to.”
“I want silence. Is that too much to ask for?”
She unscrewed the cap to a pill bottle and snatched my palm, dumping two ibuprofen in the center.
“I don’t get you,” she said as she laid out strips of bacon in another skillet. “Yesterday you’re upset because you think no one wants you for family. Today you want silence. You can’t have it both ways.”
“Please, Wicked. I can’t handle this right now.”
Blake blinked up at me with big green eyes. He was such a handsome kid. My chest tightened with this foreign longing. I couldn’t handle that right now either.
Marlow dumped an omelet on a plate,cut it in half, and shifted one piece to another plate. She piled bacon on top and shoved it across the island toward me.
I tore off a piece of bacon with my teeth as she put a fork down beside me. She leaned against the opposite side of the counter and stabbed a bite of the eggs.
“Why couldn’t you go to your room?” She popped the omelet in her mouth, slowly chewed, and swallowed as if it pained her. She dropped her fork with a clatter and pushed her plate over to me.
“Is that supposed to make me want to eat this?” I eyed the eggs suspiciously.
“It tastes fine.”
“Looks like it.”
