“Yeah, she’s passed out. You must be Ella.”
How sweet. My mother spoke about me. I nod my head, dart a glance at the kitchen. I’m sure there’s nothing in there and I’m not all that hungry after spending days with Maverick, but if there is food in there, I want to get to it before this idiot does.
He must see my gaze because he lets out a chuckle. “There’s an egg and cheese in there,” he says, rotating his neck as if he put in a hard day’s work last night. “Feel free to grab it.”
My mouth waters at those words. I might not have been hungry but I’m damn sure not going to pass up free food. Maverick and I didn’t make plans for him to come back. I hope he does, but I’m not going to wait around for him.
I don’t wait around for men anymore. Not after Shane left and let me deal with the fallout from my mother all on my own.
I nod my head once at the guy and head to the kitchen. I guess I should thank him. Maybe I’ve judged him prematurely because he’s here, with my mother.
But just as I step onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen, just a few feet from the living room where he still sits, he says, “Your dad around?”
I clench my fists at the stupid question. Does it fucking look like my dad is around? But I don’t say anything, and I won’t until I get my hands on that egg and cheese. I yank open the fridge, spot it sitting beside the can of beer because there’s nothing else but an empty jar of pickles in here. It’s a biscuit wrapped in tin foil and I close the fridge with my hip, unwrap the biscuit and shove a bite into my mouth before I answer him.
It’s kind of hard and dry, after being tucked away in the fridge probably overnight, but it’s good enough.
I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and turn to face the guy.
“Didn’t Kim tell you?”
The guy looks at me curiously, beer in between his jean clad legs, hands on his thighs. “She told me a couple things about you, but nothing about your father.”
My stomach flips. A couple of things? I tear off another bite of the biscuit and in between chewing ask, “Oh yeah? What’d she say?”
He smirks at me and my skin crawls. I’m very aware that to get to the front door, I’d have to run past him, and to get to the back door, I’d have to move the kitchen table over because Mom blocked access to it. Claimed it was a safety precaution.
“Said you broke up her last serious relationship.”
My eyes widen as I stare at him. I’m gripping the biscuit so hard I feel my finger go through the foil. “Did she?” I manage to ask, trying to keep my tone even.
He nods, runs his finger over the can of the beer as he watches me. He’s got thinning brown hair, wrinkles under his eyes. Maybe he looked better before he started doing the shit my mom does, or maybe he was ugly out the gate. I don’t know, nor care, but I want to get the fuck out of here.
I’ll take Mom’s car and the fifty cents I still have for a drop of gas to leave them to their bullshit.
“Said you couldn’t keep your hands off of him.”
I stiffen, the food turning to ash in my mouth. I set it down on the counter, next to the sink full of dishes. I grip the counter with one hand, try to unfurl my fist with the other.
“That’s not exactly what—”
He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture as he rolls his eyes. “I told her you needed a father figure.” He eyes me up and down and I pull down my sleeve, balling it in my hand. “You probably wanted the attention, right, Ella?”
I feel tears sting the back of my eyes, and I’d like to think it’s because I’m angry. But I know that’s not it. It’s because, as disgusting as he is, what he’s saying is true.
Even still.
“No,” I snap. “I was barely eighteen. Mom left us alone for days at a time. Shane took me to apply for jobs. Fed me. He attended my high school graduation while Mom was strung out in a parking lot somewhere.”
I leave the biscuit on the counter and walk into the living room, headed to the door but keeping my eyes on this guy. “If you think you’re gonna step in and be my father, you should just get the fuck out now, asshole. I don’t let her dump me on men anymore.”
His eyes narrow and he stands to his feet.
I feel my stomach dip, but I turn away from him and stride to the door, yanking it open. I hear his footsteps at my back at the exact same time I look up and see Maverick pulling open the flimsy screen door, a smirk on his face.
The footsteps at my back stop.
Maverick’s gaze darts behind him, and that smirk disappears, his eyes narrowing. He steps into the trailer, pushing past me.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks the guy at my back.
I hide my smile and turn around too, cocking a brow from behind Maverick’s back. I have no idea why he’s here so damn early, but I’m not about to ask in front of this bozo.
I can smell Maverick, this close to his broad back. He’s wearing a white zip-up jacket and black sweats, and he still smells like leather.
“I’m her mother’s boyfriend,” the guy lies, sounding annoyed, but his voice is a little unsteady, too. “And who are you?”
Maverick shakes his head and turns away from the guy, flinging his arm around me. “I’m her boyfriend.”
I feel a flush of pleasure at his words, even though I don’t think they’re actually true. But I let him steer me out of the house and he doesn’t bother closing the door after us.
Walking with Maverick through the aisles of a grocery store is like walking a very large, very aggressive dog through a nursery.
People eye him with equal parts fascination and fear, and he ignores all of them. Unless they get too close. Like the lady who almost runs over my heels with her cart in the pasta aisle.
He turns around, puts his hand out and shoves back on the cart. “Fucking watch where you’re going.”
The woman just stares at him, stunned, white knuckling the handle of her cart.
He doesn’t wait for a response from her before he pulls me in close and keeps pushing our own cart, tipping boxes of mac-n-cheese inside.
“Why were you at my house so early?” I press. I’ve asked half a dozen times. He’s ignored me each time. I’m getting used to him ignoring me when he doesn’t want to answer my questions. I’m not used to how he still expects me to answer him, no matter what.
Like now, when he throws pasta sauce into the cart and it thankfully lands on the cushion of noodle boxes. “How long has your mom been with that guy?”
I roll my eyes. Try his tactic.
A few seconds pass.
His arm tightens around me and he leans down close to me, burying his head in my neck. “Don’t make me hurt you here, Ella.”
I bite back a laugh, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Since last night,” I decide to answer him.
He pulls away, brow furrowed. “She do that often? Have men over she doesn’t know?”
This time I can’t stop my laughter.
He doesn’t look amused as we hit the cereal aisle. “I take it that’s a yes?”
I duck out of his grip, grab a box of rainbow-colored puffs, chunk them in the cart. “Why’re we here?”
He puts two more boxes of the same cereal on top of mine. “You’re eating all the food in my damn house.”