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“Oh,” I said quietly.
“What?” Dutch asked desperately. “What is it?”
I gestured toward my ex-wife and my brother with a tilt of my head.
That was one thing I’d managed not to do all that often, despite us living in the same town.
Running into them was few and far between, and even when I did, I was able to avoid it almost completely. And never had we done it with Lolo in tow.
But, Amber being Amber, she acted like she was the hurt one in the situation.
“Oh, my baby!” Amber cried.
From what Danyetta had said, she’d gotten better since she was younger on seeing Amber—and Keir—but it still wasn’t a comfortable meeting when they ran into each other.
And I saw that firsthand as Lolo practically hid behind Dutch.
I would’ve smiled at the action that Dutch took—puffing up her chest and widening her arms, while at the same time pulling the cart in front of her to protect her from the side—but Amber was upon us.
“Who are you?” Amber asked accusingly, glaring at Dayden, who was all but pinning Lolo to Dutch’s back.
It was obvious that she hadn’t seen Dutch, but that took about two point five seconds before she said, “And who are you?”
I moved in until Dutch was at my side, and the only way to reach Lolo was to bypass me, the cart, and then Dayden.
“I’m Dutch Westfield.” Dutch smiled. “And who are you?”
Dutch Westfield.
It’d been three days since I’d made her mine officially, and this was the first time that I’d heard my name tacked on to the end of hers.
Holy shit, I liked how that made me feel.
I was so focused on that feeling that I missed the first part of Amber’s tirade.
Keir, who was looking on with a lot of indecision written plain on his face, said, “Darlin’, this isn’t the time or place.”
“This is the perfect time to talk to someone who is now going to be near my daughter one hundred percent of the time. I might not have her at home with me because of extenuating circumstances, but I sure the hell can know what’s going on in her life.”
For the most part, Amber was right. She did deserve to know what was going on in her daughter’s life. But that was only if she showed even the most minute amount of desire to know that shit any other time than when she was being witnessed in public.
She didn’t ask about her from day to day. Didn’t call Lolo. Didn’t text. Didn’t send her birthday gifts. She was just a person to my girl, and not even a good one.
Hell, I was able to show more of an interest in her life when I was in prison. And that was when someone was controlling my every move.
Which was why I didn’t feel bad for Amber.
Two-way road, and all that jazz.
“Well,” I said quietly. “It is and it isn’t. You have to show that you give a shit, and I haven’t seen you do that anywhere outside of when you’re being observed in public.” I paused. “I’ve been out for a while now, and Lolo hasn’t told me you’ve tried to contact her once.”
That wasn’t something that Amber wanted to hear.
Which was why she started to push.
“Get ‘em out of here, Dutch,” I said softly as I handed her my keys.
Dutch took the keys, Lauren’s hand, and then hustled them out of the aisle the opposite way of Amber.
Amber’s eyes practically glowed for about ten seconds. Then she wilted.
Her face completely lost the anger, and then she was crying.
“You know I can’t have any more kids?” she said between hiccuping sobs. “My only one that I could have, I broke. My own brother…” She covered her face with her hands. “And she fuckin’ hates me.”
“Baby,” Keir said softly, curling his hand around her face.
The anger that I should’ve felt at the situation wasn’t there.
Instead, I felt a boatload of guilt.
Her crying got louder as she buried her face in her hands.
By that point, we’d garnered all the attention of the store.
Every last one of them that hadn’t been watching the scene take place—gotta love small towns—were now paying a hell of a lot of attention due to the volume of Amber’s cries.
I looked at the basket of food, then remembered my talk with the kids earlier about how horrible pizza and candy from the gas station was—and decided that was what I would have to do.
With one last parting comment of, “You should try more than you do,” I left, not looking back.
None of the citizens of Accident, Florida, looked at me poorly as I left. They looked at me like I’d hung the moon, which, for some, I might have. I’d cleared out a whole lot of trash before I’d been locked away.
Why so many pedophiles had been in our area without my knowledge, I didn’t know. But you can rest assured that from now on, there would be a tight regulation on who did and didn’t get to live here near our kids.
