She makes a soft pfft sound under her breath. “She shouldn’t be in daycare. If she lived with me, I would have her with me all the time.”
I shudder at the thought—that sounds like torture to me, but I know that Stella loves her grandmother. “Moving to Broward was the right choice for Stella. She’s happy, Gloria. She has her own room, and a backyard she can run around in. The neighbor has a dog that she loves, and that loves her.”
“I thought you weren’t getting her a dog. They’re dirty.”
Well, it looks like Stella might be getting that puppy sooner rather than later. “Huck is a retired military dog, and he’s incredibly patient and loving with Stella. They’re best friends.”
“She should have real friends.”
I sigh. “She does, Gloria. She’s making friends at her new daycare, and she and I are getting to spend more time together since I’m working on a more structured schedule now. This move was the best decision I’ve made.” Because it got me away from your crazy ass, I want to yell. Somehow I manage to keep the words tucked neatly inside, but they scream through my brain.
“Well, I still think she would be better off living with me. I can offer her things that you simply can’t, Tristan. I wish you would reconsider before the attorney’s get any more involved.”
You never should have involved them at all, you bitch. I keep my mouth closed again, though it pains me. It’s not smart to poke the bear until I’m armed and ready to protect myself and Stella adequately. Instead, I merely say, “I think it’s best if Stella stays with me, Gloria.”
“We’ll see.” She abruptly ends the phone call. I toss my phone onto the bed next to me, knowing that even though I don’t have to be up for another forty-five minutes, falling asleep again isn’t in the cards for me this morning.
I’ve always known that Gloria doesn’t like me; she never did much to keep her disdain from showing whenever I was around, but I had never thought that Trevor’s mother would be such a Class A bitch.
Rolling out of bed, I pad out of the room while undoing the braid in my hair. I take a quick second to tie the hair back in a messy knot at the back of my head, my go-to hairstyle, and head down into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, peaking in on Stella quickly on my way past her room. The house is incredibly quiet with Stella sound asleep. These calm, quiet moments are few and far between, and I never quite know what to do with all the stillness.
I pour myself a cup of coffee before wandering to the front of the house. In these first days of October, fall is attempting to arrive in the South. The morning is blissfully cool, though toward midday, the lingering heat and humidity will set in.
I wander out onto the front porch, eyeing Monroe’s rocking chairs with envy before settling on the top step of my porch. The outside quiet seems even louder than the quiet in the house. The sun is just starting to streak across the sky, the midnight blacks changing to lighter blues that will then fade into pretty pinks and reds as it continues to rise. The morning dew still clings to the grass and the few small bushes and flowers that are spread across the front of the house, making everything seem a little more mystical as the light touches it.
I have just taken my first sip of coffee when the light from the rising sun hits my car, and I get a good look at the damage that has been done to my trusty Ford Escape. My coffee cup slips from my fingers, the glass shattering at my feet, as I take in the broken windows and the red paint that has been tossed haphazardly on top of the usually blue car. The word “whore” is neatly spelled out in the same red, the letters formed from paint that has dripped as it dried, making it even worse.
I scramble to my feet, walking straight over the shattered coffee mug hardly feeling the broken pieces digging into my soft flesh. Without giving it too much thought, I hurry down the steps and across the sidewalk to stop in front of my car for the briefest of seconds before continuing my journey across my yard, over to Owen’s, and up his front porch. I pound on his front door like a mad woman, my mind running a million miles a minute. Who in the world would do this to me? I hardly know anyone here. The only person I can think of is Lesa, but the other nurse didn’t seem like the type to be this vindictive. She hadn’t mentioned Owen at all when I’d gone to work the day after our dinner, and taking my cue from her, I hadn’t either.
I’m getting ready to start pounding on the door again when it’s suddenly thrown open, and Owen is standing in front of me. He has one arm pressed against the door jam, elbow bent; the other is hidden behind the open door. His hair is mused, his eyes soft from the sleep I obviously interrupted.
Mostly though, I’m stuck on the fact that the only thing he’s wearing is a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants and a scowl. I will never, ever, understand what it is about his scowl that makes me hot. But at the moment it isn’t the scowl that has me frozen, hand raised in the air to pound on his door again.
It’s every beautifully sculpted, thick cord of muscle that is on full display, pulled taut beneath tan skin that looks smooth as silk. They ripple from one to the other in the most tantalizing display of peaks and valleys I have ever seen in my life, all of them rolling down from one to the next until they reach his hips and pull into a taut V, just barely visible over the waist of his sweats. The edges of a black-and-gray pirate-ship tattoo are just barely visible on his right side.
“Tristan?”
I blink at the sound of my name, forcing my eyes back up to his face. Which is a pretty damn difficult task considering all the lovely muscles and skin on display. “What?”
“You knocked on my door.” He points out. “Did you need something?”
I nod my head. “Yes, I, ah, shit. Do you have a shirt?”
“Not on me.” He grins, very clearly enjoying my reaction to him.
“Obviously not on you,” I snap, trying to force a glare. “My car was vandalized. I need you to come play sheriff.”
His entire demeanor changes in an instant. Sexy, fun Owen is gone, though the muscles stay on full display. He turns his head back to the house, whistling softly, and seconds later Huck is at his side. He gently pushes me aside as the two of them make quick work of crossing the small distance between his porch and my driveway.
“Fuck.” Owen shoves a hand through his hair. “They really did a number on it. You pissed anyone off lately?”
I walk around to the other side, where the glaring word “whore” is scrawled in big, bold, red letters. Owen follows me, cursing heavily under his breath as he crouches down, mindful of the broken glass from the windows as he studies the car. “I need to call it in. Huck, stay. Watch Tristan.”
“What?”
“Just a precaution. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t touch anything.”
“I know not to touch anything,” I mutter to the dog. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen CSI.” I look back at the house, thinking I need to go and check on Stella. I look over to the car again, then up to Owen’s house. He hasn’t come back out yet, and I know he’s going to be pissed, but I’ve got to make sure Stella hasn’t gotten up and is looking for me. “Huck, come.” I snap my fingers at the dog, not sure what his commands are, but he follows along dutifully while I make my way to the house.