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“You’re running for mayor,” she repeats, and I don’t miss the hurt in her pretty blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought—I thought you tell me everything.”
“I do, sweetheart,” I murmur, the small lie flowing easily from my sinful tongue. “But why would you care about this? It means nothing. James asked if I’d be interested, and Mary convinced me it’d be a good idea.”
“But how did she know?” Eve cries, the sound broken.
My brows crash together and my heart rattles with anxiety. “She was in my office when he came to talk to me,” I say slowly, shaking my head. “Why does it matter?” She stares up at me, her gaze clouding with tears.
“Why was she in your office, Isaac?” she whispers. “Are you—are you two—” She can barely get the words out, and I grip her wrist.
“No, sweetheart. We’re not.”
“But, she said—”
“It doesn’t matter what she said, does it?” I ask, my tone hardening in frustration.
There are so many things I keep from Eve. So many. To protect her. To protect the foundation we exist on. She’s so innocent, so young. Fragile. We don’t have conversations like this and it’s the exact reason why I can’t have things changing the way she’s asking for. I can’t.
“You trust me, don’t you? Mary and I are nothing to each other. Nothing other than friends.” I stop short of saying how useful Mary is. She picks up the pieces where Eve can’t, keeping my life—our lives—running smoothly. I don’t say that though, knowing it’ll make things worse.
“She’s your friend,” she drawls, testing the words. I nod.
And it’s the truth. Mary is a beautiful woman. She’s kind, and giving, and loves helping the community and the church. But she’s not my type.
Cami was short with dark hair and eyes, her skin deeply tanned and her Puerto Rican soul fiery. She was beautiful and exciting. But more than that, she was fun. And being raised the way I was—in that trailer with my sorry excuse for a father—I desperately needed fun.
It was part of the reason I was with Cami. We offered a mutual escape, falling easily into drugs, alcohol and sex. But then she got pregnant and we didn’t have a choice but to be together and suddenly her fire wasn’t so cute anymore.
She wasn’t wife material. She wasn’t mother material. She wasn’t good for us.
Then there was Jane. Sweet, sweet Jane. She was the perfect woman who offered Roman and I solace at the perfect time.
Graceful and beautiful, with long blonde hair, similar to Eve’s. It was always tied in a neat bun, but at home, she let it free and I loved it. Loved running my fingers through it, tugging on the tangles. The way she made sure the kids and I were well taken care of, even before herself. She was the definition of a southern housewife.
But she had her downfalls, just like everyone did. She compared me too much to Grant, her late husband. And, despite his best efforts to push her away, she never gave up on Roman. No matter how many times I told her he was a lost cause, that he’d rather spend his time fucking and fighting than being a devout Christian or quarterback, she never stopped trying.
It broke a piece of my heart, but I’d long since learned that Roman and I were like oil and water. We didn’t mix. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get through to him.
But now he’s gone, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Our relationship, or lack of it, doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on. I’ve had to.
“Why didn’t you tell me, though?” Eve asks again, her voice hushed, her fingers clenched tightly in her tiny, indecent dress.
“Sweetheart,” I sigh and pinch between my eyes, soothing the building pressure away. I’m too tired to talk about this. Too worn out from the emotional ups and downs the past twenty-four hours has had on me. Too damn hungover and yet somehow already craving the sweet release I’ll find at the bottom of a bottle.
“I have a right to know these things,” she says, and slowly, my eyes flutter open, my forehead creasing.
“Do you?” I quip. Her resolve nearly crumbles, but she puts on a brave face, straightening her shoulders. My gaze narrows as I scan her, taking in every tempting inch. She really is a stunning little thing.
I hate it.
“It affects me,” she says confidently. “I should’ve known.”
“Actually,” I drawl, “it affects me.”
“But—”
“No, Eve,” I say, cutting her off with a slash of my hand. I’m quickly tiring of this conversation. Why can’t she just understand? “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t important. You don’t have to worry about it because I will take care of things just as I always have and you need to let me,” I implore, running a finger lovingly down her cheek to soften my words. Her jaw tenses, and fire dances in her eyes.
This is new.
