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“I wanted to share my congratulations.”
“Well…thanks.”
“And I wanted to make sure this is what you really want.”
My skin prickled.
“Victor told me Bartholomew hurt you pretty badly.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with my father. Even when we were on the best terms, it was still weird. “I don’t want to talk about him.” It hurt even to think of him. My mind wandered to other things, like who he had moved on to and if he’d forgotten about me altogether.
“I know Victor must feel like a safe option after that relationship.”
“You think Victor is a rebound?”
“Your words. Not mine. But truth be told, I don’t think Victor cares if that’s what he is. He wants you in whatever capacity you will take him.”
Was he here to make me feel guilty? “You don’t think I’m good enough for him?”
“I just don’t want you to feel rushed to settle down because of your broken heart.”
I was only rushed to kill this motherfucker. “If that incident had never happened, I think Victor and I would have made it.”
“I do too.”
“And being with him again makes me realize what was taken from us.”
He gave a nod.
“Love always deserves a second chance.”
“It does.” Now his eyes were focused on me, like his words implied a whole lot more. “It always does…”
I carried my bag of groceries up the stairs then fumbled with the key in the lock as I tried to balance one of the bags at the same time. I used my knee to stabilize everything, and then the bag tilted too far and toppled over. Oranges rolled across the floor. “Motherfucker.” I finally got the door unlocked and pushed itajar before I picked up the mess. A couple eggs cracked, but most of the stuff was unharmed.
I carried the bags into the kitchen and put everything away, except for the three cracked eggs that got yolk all over the paper bag. I had to throw it away instead of recycling it, and then I scrubbed my hands clean to get the salmonella off my skin.
I headed back into the living room—and jumped out of my skin.
The curtains over the main window were drawn closed, not by me, and in the shadow sat a man in one of the armchairs.
It took a moment for my vision to adjust. To recognize the angry coffee-colored eyes that burned my skin with the heat of volcanic lava. My heart raced so quickly that my lungs couldn’t keep up with the demand, and I felt a little faint.
He’d skipped the leather jacket because it was too hot for anything but his black t-shirt. He was in dark jeans, and I could see his signature boots because one ankle was propped on the opposite knee. His elbow was on one of the armrests, his curled fingers underneath his chin.
I had no words.
Time passed and we stayed still, our eyes looking at each other in the dark.
I still couldn’t find anything to say.
He got to his feet, and then his boots thudded against the hardwood as he came toward me, coming into the light from the kitchen behind me. Now his features were on full display—and I’d never seen him angrier. “Six weeks. That’s all it took to forget me.Six fucking weeks.”
I’d been so surprised by his visit I didn’t have time to ponder the reason he came.
“He’s a coward, Laura. A goddamn coward.”
I breathed hard, still unnerved by his ambush.
