EMMY: Are you still coming with me to the charity gala? You said you’d let me know.
Nope.
Being around suits and men with money that they wipe their asses with isn’t my idea of blowing a night.
Seeing Emmy in a tight dress that outlines her perfect ass and heels might make up for it.
But nah. Still a no.
More of a hell no. I honestly can’t believe she thought I was serious when I told her to let me have some time to think about it. She knows I hate that shit. I only avoid her like an unpopular opinion. I’m surprised I even responded back to the dumbass question to begin with.
Because you’d break her in half while she screams your name.
Scarlett joins my brother, comfortable together as I feel out of place in my own damn crib as they both stare at me.
I take a long swig of my Coke, buying some time for whatever it is they are going to say, and deflect from Emmy’s question. I can feel several more of them being directed my way along with shit I don’t want to talk about in my near future.
“How long are you staying?” Hardy inquires as I place my drink down with a thud.
I shrug. “Don’t know.”
“Can you stay for a little while?” Scarlett chimes in. “I was hoping to cook you my famous lasagna at least once.”
“Sounds good.” I flick my gaze to Hardy, feeling my muscles begin to tighten. “Now tell me what happened with you and Bubba.”
I watch both my brother and sister recoil back a bit, hinting that it’s not something they want to discuss either. If Hardy saw him, Bubba made himself known because it gets his dick hard.
“Well,” Hardy begins, strumming his fingers along the tabletop. “I was out taking the trash a few weeks back to the dumpster when…my ass almost got jumped.”
I almost scoff out loud. Leave it to Bubba Walters to come in like a straight bitch.
“By who?”
“Bubba and some white supremacist-looking motherfucker.” He lifts his shoulders. “That was…one time. Thankfully, they were old and slow. But I remember you telling me that if I saw him…to let you know.”
A few fucking weeks later.
I raise a well-versed brow. “That’s it?”
“Besides what I told you about him and his jackass friend shooting at me, yeah.” He steals a glance at our sister. “He ran into Scarlett at the grocery store, said some pretty fucked up shit.”
And when I wish I didn’t kill him just yet…
“Was he with someone?”
Scarlett shakes her head. “No.”
I roll my shoulders, already feeling them tense as I try to remain cool. “What else?”
“There was someone who tried to break in the other night at the trailer,” my brother continues. “I made a bunch of noise in there, and they took off.”
“How long have you been there?”
“About two months to be closer to Madelyn.”
I look at Scarlett. “And you?”
“A day before the accident.”
“And why are you here?” I look between the two of them, wanting answers from both. The silence is deafening for well over a minute before my sister decides to spill the beans.
“To visit.” Or not.
She begins fidgeting with her fingers and averts her eyes from me.
Something that Emmy does.
One way to get my little blonde bombshell to talk is to stare at her until she rats herself out. Though, as of late, Emmy has become somewhat immune to my trick and built a pesky tolerance.
My little sister, though, it’s been over two decades since she’s been in the same room with me. She’s only just scratching the surface.
“I’m getting away from my ex.”
“And why would you need to come states away to do that?” My tone is strained, already not fond of the idea that the nine-year-old sister that I remembered is now a grown woman of twenty-nine with a whole life.
Funny how I’ve spent days with her, and she failed to mention that little detail.
Scarlett’s face flushes the color of her name and pulls her focus away again. “Because he’s abusive and crazy, and…I need somewhere to crash.” I set my jaw, finding Hardy doing the same thing.
“Do you have kids with him?” I press, double-checking to be sure because I think I already know the answer to that.
“No.”
“Mortgages?”
“No.”
“Bank accounts?”
“No.”
“Life insurance policy?” Her brows furrow at my—to her—odd question. “No?”
She slowly shakes her head. “No.”
“Good—“ I bring my beverage back up to my lips. “—because he’s dead.”
Being at this charity gala brings forth so many flashbacks of working with Wade that I have to remind myself that those days are over. And while at the time I thought they were the hardest, I’d take them over the here and now.
I’d choose being overworked, stressed, and always babysitting Wade to make sure he was on his best behavior over this moment where I’ve been stood up by Bishop.
He was supposed to come with me tonight.
He made it sound like he didn’t want me to be alone, surrounded by rich men and stuffy conversations that sometimes subtly led into leaving with them.
But I should’ve known better.
He hates them just as much as I do, and I grew up in this environment.
However, Bishop made things fun. He’d find somewhere to kiss me senseless one minute, then allow me to go to watch Wade just for me to come back so he could make me come two more times.
All past tense.
I’m addicted to a man that won’t allow himself to see me or understand what I need.
Sitting at the overly crowded bar, Wade is slowly sipping on his usual, dry brandy, making conversation with who he needs to. Appearing bored out of his ever-loving mind while he does it. As long as I’ve known him, I could never get him to wear another expression.
I’ve already said my needed hello’s to people that I’ve worked with in the past, and I’m free as a bird to get slightly buzzed before I
