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“Mmm,” I mutter, my eyes fluttering closed. “Peaches and sin. My favorite.”
I release her and step away, needing the distance like I need fucking air. Spinning, I snatch her leather bag from the floor and slide the strap on my shoulder as I head to the front door.
It takes her a second to catch up, but when she does, I can hear her stumbling to get her second shoe on. “Where the hell are you going? That’s my bag!” She chases me, breathing heavily. Stepping onto the porch, I release the screen door, letting it smack her in the face.
“Ow,” she groans, slamming it shut as I hit the stairs, making my way toward the church. “Seriously. Where are you going? I need my bag. I have to get to—”
“The AA meeting,” I call over my shoulder. “You better hurry up.” I check my watch, smiling. “It starts in fifteen minutes, and you know how Daddy Dearest hates to be left waiting.”
She lets out a faint cry filled with rage and stomps past me, yanking her bag as she goes. I clutch it harder, keeping it planted firmly on my shoulder.
With her eyes on me, I toss my finished cigarette into the lake as we pass it and grin when she gives me a shocked look.
She’s so easy to rile up.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, falling into step beside me. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
My head falls back with a genuine laugh. Reaching over, I ruffle her hair. “Shit. Little Evie’s got a potty mouth these days.” She jerks away from my touch and shoots me a death glare, but I just waggle my brows. “You do all sorts of filthy shit with those lips now, huh?”
Her mouth falls open and she stumbles mid-step. I fight the urge to catch and steady her, tightening my fist on her bag instead.
She rights herself, and lets out a long sigh. “Why are you really here?” she asks. “Just to be a dick? Do you want to hurt us?”
Us?
That hurts more than it should. She’s looking out for him, Isaac, not me. We used to be an us. Now…
Now we’re nothing.
“Roman?” I pause at the seriousness of her tone and meet her gaze, taking in the genuine worry there.
She’s scared. Of what, I’m not entirely sure. If this were four years ago, I’d know exactly what she’s thinking with just a look. But it's not and I don’t know this version of Eve.
With her fear in mind, her legitimate need for me to be honest with her, I give her my real answer.
“Yes,” I say, and toss her bag at her, the reminder stark in the burning Georgia light.
She catches it with a huff. “Yes, what?”
Pulling out another smoke, I leave her behind the same way she left me four years ago. The same way she’s still leaving me.
“I’m here to make you hurt.”
I sink further into my pew at the back of the church, and watch as Isaac pretends Eve doesn’t exist. What’s worse is watching her dutifully set up the refreshment table like some kind of doting housewife while shooting longing, sidelong glances his way.
It’s pathetic.
She’s pathetic.
Fuck, I really hate it here.
Running my fingers through my hair, I kick my booted feet up onto the back of the pew in front of me, settling in to watch the shit show. I lie to myself and say it’s so I can keep an eye on her, make sure he doesn’t do something stupid like hurt her.
But we all know the truth: I’m just a masochistic asshole who likes to writhe in my pain.
It’s familiar. It’s mine, and no one can take it from me.
It’s comforting in a way not many things are anymore.
