“You’re all she ever talks about,” Paige says to August as I walk out the door slowly, trying to listen in to the conversation that I know will now ensue.
“She stopped worrying about if I was bathed or not when I was six. She stopped feeding me when I was ten. She never once visited me in prison. No letter. No nothing. Tell me, Paige, does that sound like all the hallmarks of a doting mother?”
“You sound like Dad,” she spits.
“Listen to him. Because…” he pauses for a few seconds then continues, “… he’s right.”
Wanting to give them some privacy, I go and sit on the front porch. It’s then I realize I’m sitting on a wooden chair. The wood, although old in texture, looks brand-new and is sanded to perfection, then stained with something to keep the texture. The legs of the chair are shaped like wooden wheels that sit on a sled-styled bottom. There are two of them with a table in a similar pattern sitting between them.
The chair is unique, stunning, and I love it. The arms seem to have an ornate pattern engraved into the surface, and I can’t help but rub my hands back and forward over the surface of the polished wood.
“I’m sure the chair is enjoying the rubbing you’re giving it.” My hand pauses on the surface of the wood.
“Did you make it?”
August crosses his arms over his chest, making his muscles stand out even more.
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be covered in tattoos?”
“Why? Because I’ve been away in prison? Is that why you think I should be covered in ink?” He laughs as Paige finally walks out, her tears now dried. “Come on, rich girl, the food is ready,” he says, nodding back to the house.
I can’t help but take another look at the chairs.
“August is gifted,” Paige says, smiling now. She’s obviously proud of her brother’s talent. “What’s going on with you two?”
My phone starts ringing, and I see Anderson’s name flash on the screen. Pressing ignore, I give my attention back to Paige. “Nothing.” I stand and pull my keys from my pocket with a smile. “Tell August I said bye. Sorry, I have to go.”
She nods and says nothing more as I get in my car to leave.
August walks outside, glancing over at me in the car. My hands freeze on the wheel, but I manage to drive off, even if my head is screaming at me to go back to him.
Pulling over because I’m starving, I stop to grab some food before I go home and sleep for the rest of the day before dinner with Rhi. As I grab a drink, a woman steps in front of me, blocking my view. I attempt to step around her, and it’s then I can tell it’s the same woman from that night at the party with Anderson. My eyes fall to her belly, which is round. It’s not overly large, but it is more than obvious she is pregnant.
“You’re Rylee, right?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“He told me I wasn’t good enough for him. That we weren’t.” She rubs her belly. “He said you were meant to have his babies, no one else.”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I reply, my eyebrows drawn together.
She shakes her head as if trying to remove the vision from her mind. “I’m sorry, that’s all I wanted to say. I didn’t know about you when we hooked up. He told me he was single. And when I found out he wasn’t, I left. Until…” She looks down at her belly, rubbing it again. “Well… until I found out about the baby. And I knew if he lied to me before, about you, well… he would say this baby wasn’t his when I know it is. So I had a DNA test done so he couldn’t deny it.”
“Umm… okay.” I don’t know why she feels the need to tell me all this.
“Look… I know this is weird. But I want you to know that I didn’t know about you.” Tears start to slip from her eyes, falling down her cheeks and dropping onto the front of her dress.
“How old are you?”
She swipes them away, obviously angry she’s letting it all get to her. “Eighteen,” she replies.
Gosh.
Oh my God, she’s closer to my brother’s age than Anderson’s.
“Just don’t—” I cut myself off because I can't tell her what to do. I can’t say that one day he might hurt her as well. It’s simply not my place to do that. So instead, I say, “Good luck, and no hard feelings.” I step around her and give her the best smile I can muster.
Fuck.
Anderson is a real fucking dick.
Chapter 18
August
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you two?” Paige asks while I hand her a glass of milk.
“Eat.” She does as I say but continues to stare at me. “Nothing is going on.”
“Funny how your answers are the same.”
I shake my head.
“I’m sorry, you know. It’s hard. I’m a girl, August, surrounded by men. Did you know when I got my first period, Dad had to google what to do?” She shivers. “I wanted a mother to help me. I needed a mother, so I could ask all the questions. Instead, I had to resort to a search on the internet.”
“She isn’t a mother, and you should know that.”
“Yeah, but she’s the only one I’ve got.”
I guess it’s different for us. I didn’t need her back then like Paige needs her now. I won’t understand because I’m not a girl, but I’ll try to help her if I can.
“You don’t need her, Paige. I’m sure you have other girls you can talk to. What about Beckham’s mother?”
She coughs and shakes her head. “No, Mrs. Harley is not someone you go to for advice. Rylee, on the other hand…” She smiles up at me. “I’d go to Rylee.”
“Hmm…”
“Rylee is good. I like her. Don’t you?”
“Hmm…” I turn around and start clearing the mess.
“You can’t ignore everything I ask about her, August.”
“I’ll stop ignoring you if you promise never to go to that house again.”
“Josh seems nice,” she says defensively.
I turn fast with cloth in hand.
“No. No, he is not. Stay far away from him, Paige. Do you understand me?”
“Okay, okay!”
“Tell me you will. If you see him, you’ll walk the other way. Promise me.”
She rolls her eyes, but I’m not joking. “Paige,” I bark her name, making her eyes snap up to mine.
“Yes, okay, I get it.”
“Good.”
Rylee messages me twice the following week, warning me she is coming over.
Friend.
That’s how she ends the messages.
Friend.
My dick twitches at the thought of seeing her. Fuck! What I wouldn’t give to throw her over my couch and have her all over again.
What a sweet life that would be.
On Thursday, she rocks up, carrying two bags. Holding the door open for her, she barges in, holding up the bags.
“I ordered us some pizza and dessert. Because people who don’t have dessert after a meal are considered evil, just so you know.” She struts along, her heels clicking on my wooden floors as she goes, dressed in a knee-length skirt and a white blouse. I can see the outline of her bra through it at the top. It’s obviously her work outfit.