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"I just looked over her application and information again for the townhouse. She's a single mom, living alone with her daughter."
This should not be a big deal. Like at all. But…
"Rylee was afraid of us, Jack." Jude's voice is a whisper, his eyes crinkling like he, too, is having a hard time comprehending what he's feeling.
"Fuck."
He nods his head, focus drifting out the windows. On the drive home, I try to wrangle myself in a bit. I can't stop thinking about the shit fest we created. My sister was making a friend, and we stormed in like some macho-bullshitting hurricanes, ready to haul her over our shoulders and lock Gabby in her room. Ourtwenty-five-year-oldfoster sister.
The blue eyes of the red-haired woman were pained, inciting the rageful beast inside of me that wanted to protect her. The stubborn glint in them, though, intrigued me like no other. I want to know what battle she was fighting under her radiant skin. The need to know what made Rylee so fearful makes my skin itch. I have to know how she built herself back up again.
Something happened to those girls, and I'm powerless to hold back my curiosity and concern.
I will find out what demons are haunting my beautiful tenant, and I will crush them.
ChapterSeven
RYLEE
My neck is trying to rip my shoulder off, I swear. It's punishing me for sleeping on the floor all night.I just couldn't bring myself to leave Layla's side. My anxiety swarmed all rational thought, leaving me to my baser instincts, so there was no way in hell I could let my baby sleep alone.
I woke to her snarled hair dangling in my face and a big, stinky smile shining down on me. Thankfully, she hasn't outgrown sleepovers with her momma yet, setting us up for a day filled with light laughter and easy plans.
She's upstairs cleaning up her bedroom while I tackle the final remnants of the kitchen and living room. I have almost everything cleaned up and put away, except for my bedroom and bathroom.
We don't have much since we can't necessarily drag around an entire home in my SUV. Bug's stuff takes up most of the room, as do our kitchen supplies. I've managed to move us into furnished homes, and they usually come with basic kitchen things too. I couldn't imagine having to drag around an entire damn kitchen and furniture.
I can hear Layla humming upstairs, hopefully not talking to ghosts. I shudder at the thought and run my hand through my fresh curls. Lord knows I needed a pick-me-up after last night. And sometimes, that can only come in the form of wearing my best shorts, curling my hair, putting some mascara on, and flaunting a little cleavage. I may just be hanging out at home with my little one, but feeling good goes a long way.
Loading the dishwasher, my ears pick up the sound of Layla bounding down the stairs. "Mommy, can we go swimming?" I lean my butt against the counter and hold in my smile at her puppy-dog eyes.
"Did you finish your room?"
Her head bobs furiously. "Yes, promise!" Tugging on my hand, I let her pull me up to her bedroom as I listen to all her plans for the beach. In her own pair of shorts and anElsaT-shirt, she gives me a twirl in the center of her room. "See?"
I smile and take in the almost bare floors, kind of made bed, and dirty laundry basket with a few articles of clothing around it. She's five, so this is more than I expected when I asked her to clean her room.
"Good job, Bug. Let's go eat, and then maybe we can go to the beach, okay?" What's really nice about being a full-time author is working whenever I want. The amount of effort I put into it is what influences my pay.
A ball of stress gets lodged in my throat when I realize I didn't write anything last night.Damn it. I write every day, no matter how little I can do. My anxiety really got the best of me, I guess.
When Layla shoves me out of her room, I tell myself I better get used to it because my little Bug is growing up really freaking fast. I just hope we stay friends even when she's hormonal and has people her own age. I swallow the nausea at the concept of her having a boyfriend or girlfriend.
Sandwiches ready, I turn down the hallway to my room when a knock at the door startles me. What I didn't realize, though, was Layla stepping off the last step.
"Gabby!" she squeals and runs to open the door.
"Fuck!" I hiss and run after her, hoping to stop her before she gets there. Heart thundering in my chest, I pray she remembers the rules before she opens the damn door.
"Layla—" My breath gets lodged in my throat as I tear around the corner of the hallway just as her dainty hand throws the door wide. Her giddy smile drops, and she shrinks away from the door before I even get the chance to take in whoever the hell is scaring my little girl.
"You aren't Gabby." Her voice is small and shaky, making my chest constrict with pain and my tummy swirl with dread.
My eyes fly up to the stranger just as I scoop Bug into my arms and wrap a firm hand on the door, readying to slam it shut.
"Mommy?" I hush her, my hip cocked with her weight resting on it. Swallowing my fears and anxiety, since I refuse for Layla to see it, I take in the man in front of us.
My eyes catch on his bulging biceps and wide shoulders first, making my heart pitter-patter behind the cage of my breastbones. Probably six-five, he's an embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. Long, messy black hair makes my fingers twitch for an entirely different reason than a protective reflex. His firm jaw has a few days of scruff shadowing his plump lips. I scan over the wings tattooed on his forearm, paying it no mind while I watch his mouth part and eyes widen in... awe? Confusion? I don't know, but he's big and beautiful.
