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“Why are you so upset, babe? Y’all are free to play happy familyfamilies now. You and that fucking boyfriend of yours.” Something malicious lifts the corner of John’s oh-so-punchable mouth. “If he actually sticks around, that is.”
I flinch, hating that he knows exactly where to hit to really hurt, hating even more that John sees my reaction and relishes in it. “You can have the kid, Sunny,” he taunts. “He’s the only person who’s ever really gonna want you.”
“That’s not true.”
“You can’t actually think your little baseball player does. You’re notthatstupid.”
“John—”
“No,” he cuts off my dad with a sneer, stalling his approach with a raised hand. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? You thinkhe’sso much better than me?”
When John surges forward, I stumble back, grateful for my dad for the first time in years when he grabs me before John can, steadying me. I still shrug him off, though, holding myself tall as I spit back. “Yeah, actually, I do.” John starts to splutter but I cut him off. “He is so much fucking better than you. In every single way, John. You are pathetic compared to him. You areembarrassing. And one day you’re gonna realize what a fucking dumbass you are to give up August but you’re never gonna be able to fix it and that’s no one’s fault but yours.”
“All of you,” I add, whirling around to address the audience, gaze slicing from my parents to Mrs. Shay to fucking Clare and back again. “Y’all are despicable. If I never see you again, that’ll be too damn soon.”
“Sunday—”
“No, Daddy.” I step out of his reach again, a raised hand holding him at bay. “You had twenty-seven years to be better. It’s too late now.” Shifting my gaze to John, I emphasize, “It’s too fucking late.”
Red as a beet, John scoffs and splutters, huffs and puffs, pretends I don’t exist as he climbs into the ugly truck he never let me drive and slams the door like a petulant child. When he starts the engine, revving it like an asshole, I almost think he’s going to let me have the last word.
And then he rolls down the window. Spits on the floor by my foot. Delivers one last cutting remark before I hopefully never see him again. “Tell your boyfriend I don’t do refunds. You're all his.”
* * *
The house is quiet when I let myself in.
Despite everything, the silence makes me frown—I’m not accustomed to it, not here. There’s always noise. Always someone to greet me, someone around. Of course, when I desperately need that, it’s nowhere to be found.
Instead, something foreboding lingers in the air. Like the remnants of yesterday are still permeating the walls, the house knows what’s about to happen. Even Pickle looks sketchy, perched on top of the refrigerator—God knows how he keeps getting up there—tail swishing and eyes squinted as he watches me enter the kitchen.
“Hey,” I softly address the man elbow-deep in sudsy water, my heart speeding up yet my brain calming, the familiar broad back apparently enough to put my mind at ease. “Is August here?”
Cass is already frowning when he turns to me, probably in response to the unusual rasp in my voice. I swear, all this crying is going to make me sound like I’ve been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. “He’s at Izzy’s.”
Of course. He always is these days. My eyes water thinking about how he would’ve felt if that had to change, and because of the relief of knowing it won’t. With a quiet curse, Cass tosses aside the towel he’s using to dry his hands, occupying them with my hips as he tugs me closer. “What happened?”
Blowing out a shaky breath, I slump against him, my forehead going to the center of his chest. “I talked to John.”
Cass stiffens. “And?”
“He’s dropping it.” I sniff, lemon and cedarwood soothing me. “He’s not gonna fight me for custody.”
A relieved exhale brushes the top of my head, his voice holding the same emotion. “Good.”
“Yeah.” It is good. So, so good. I’m having trouble feeling the full, overwhelming. scope of how good it is. A decade-long nightmare has finally,finally, ended, and my boy and I are free. But something is… I don’t know. Off. “I don’t get it. This is weird, even for John.”
Tracing circles on my lower back, Cass dips his head until his mouth hovers near my ear. “Ever heard the saying ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?”
“You’re right,” I agree with a sigh, tilting my face up towards him. “Pretty anticlimactic, hey?”
With a dry chuckle and a kiss that’s really, really bad for my current state of mind, he lets me go. “I saved some breakfast for you.”
Following the nod of his head, I peek in the still-warm oven, tears threatening me once again at the sight of Nutella-stuffed French toast—Cass’ current breakfast special, since Baby Girl developed a liking for chocolate. Plopping onto a stool with a groan, I dig in greedily. When Cass slides a bowl of fruit and a meaningful look my way, I oblige, if only because a mountain of sliced apples is way better than a rutabaga smoothie. Cass takes the seat beside me, sliding a palm down the back of my head until he can tangle his fingers in the end of my hair. “You wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. The last thing I want to do is spend any more time talking, thinking, feeling anything about John. “I’m just glad it’s over. Don’t wanna jinx anything but I really think he’s gone for good this time.”
Something weird flashes across Cass’ face, gone before I can really process it, forgotten even sooner because the hair-playing and the food-eating are bringing me to a new, all-consuming dimension of pleasure.
