“Safety?” She snorts, smoothing her hair in the wind. “It’s not like I’m going to hurt them, Barron. Stop being so dramatic.”
“Go. Get off my property.”
“I need to talk to Kacy,” she counters as if I should give her that much.
“Not a goddamn chance.” I pierce her with a stare as firm as my stance. “You need to get off my fucking property before I call the sheriff.”
Tara’s eyes lock on mine, a fuck-you plastered to her face. “You can’t possibly be into that girl. She’s the help, Barron. She cleans up my dog’s shit for a living.”
I hate the way she says “that girl,” as if Kacy wouldn’t be good enough for me. I don’t know the situation, and I know Tara well enough not to believe anything she says. But her acting like Kacy isn’t good enough, it clicks. Her leaving California probably had everything to do with Tara. She was running from everyone in her life who treated her as if she would never be enough.
Smirking, I drag my eyes up and down Tara’s body. “That girl is more woman than you ever were, or will be.”
Tara’s body shifts, her stance stick-straight, hands on her hips. “Let me talk to her.”
“No, you’re done hurting her too. Leave. It’s what you’re good at.”
Her jaw drops and her voice raises an octave. “You can’t be serious.”
I nod. “Oh, but I am, honey.”
She moves back a step, nervous for the first time. “Now I know why I left you.”
“And now I know why I never tried to get you back.”
They have consequences.
KACY
Why did she come here?
Oh, here’s an even better question. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL HIM?
Because you’re a dummy, as Camdyn would say.
I suck in a breath, trying to breathe, but it’s like I’m suffocating. I think I’m having a heart attack. Or anxiety attack. Are they different? Are the symptoms the same? Should I put my arm above my head?
No, no. That’s if you’re choking.
Breathe into a paper bag?
No, that’s for hyperventilating.
I have no air. I have a heartbeat though. It’s angry and pissed off at me.
“Kacy?” Camdyn tugs on my hand beside me. “Are you okay?”
I think I nod, but who knows at this point.
“Daddy? Who is that girl?” Camdyn asks, the very second Barron comes through the door and slams it shut.
He ignores her and places both hands on the counter, hanging his head. Is he mad? Does he hate me? What did she say to him?
All questions I have but I’m not sure I’ll get answers to. I certainly don’t deserve them.
“I’m hungry,” Sev says, petting her cat, who’s on the counter licking frosting from a cookie. And before anyone can stop her, Sev takes the cookie and eats it.
I’m not sure who’s more disgusted—Barron or the cat whose cookie was eaten by the kid.
“I’m taking my kids to my dad’s,” Barron finally says, an edge to his voice I haven’t heard before.
Camdyn’s hands plant on her hips. “I wanna make cookies!” She holds up the antler cookie cutter she dug out when we came inside. “You said we could.”
Barron’s face softens a fraction. “We will tonight.” He leans down and kisses her forehead, and then hands her a coat. “I just need to talk to Kacy, and Nana Lee has a special treat for you.”
“I not wanna treat,” Sev says, flopping herself on the ground at his feet. Her witch’s hat she’s been wearing all morning falls off. “I want cockies.”
I fight the urge to laugh that she said cockies, but restrain myself knowing now is not the time for laughter.
“Cookies!” Camdyn yells back, the tension in the air getting to her.
Sev kicks at her sister. “I say that!” she screams, her screeching cry following.
Everyone is on edge, and the girls are now feeding off it. One crying, one angry at her dad for reasons she doesn’t know. “No! You says cockies. That’s not even a word.”
“Jesus Christ.” Barron groans, running his hands over his face. “Nana Lee has cookies too. Now get up and get your ass into the truck,” he warns, glaring at the girls.
They do as he says, almost immediately. Hell, even I think maybe I should get in the truck.
It’s then he lifts his eyes to mine for the first time since he’s been inside. I gauge his reaction. Waiting. Five feet from him, pressed against the fridge, where he first kissed me. His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. He steps closer to me, our breathing mixing. “You better be here when I get back. You owe me that much.” His voice is a barely audible hiss, but the warning is there.
Gulp. Literally. I attempt to answer him and almost choke on my own spit. I can’t breathe again. The words dry up. What were they? What was I going to say? That I led him to believe I crashed into his life?
That part wasn’t a lie. I didn’t know where he lived in Amarillo.
That had been fate, hadn’t it?
I open my mouth to reply, then snap it shut again when his eyebrows shoot up in a silent warning—a threat to shut the fuck up.
I watch him leave with the girls, fully prepared for that to be the last time I see them. What if it is? Will he let me say goodbye to them? My stomach free falls to my knees, and I hate that feeling. I don’t even like riding on a roller coaster, so me and this feeling, we don’t like each other. I want to run away, hide from the expression on his face, but I can’t. I did this. I have to face him and explain.
What the hell made me think this was a good idea to stay? Oh, right. Because I was scared. In Karnataka, India, they toss newborns out a window into a makeshift blanket thirty feet below to crowd surf. Doesn’t make it a good idea.
Keeping this from him for three weeks was, in fact, a bad idea.
I’m an idiot. A motherfucking stupid idiot, and I should be tossed out a window.
The realization hits me like a bullet to my heart. That’s when I burst into tears. I know I have no right to feel sorry for myself for my actions, but it certainly doesn’t stop the pain.
Twenty minutes later, I can hear Barron’s truck coming up the driveway. I nervously pace the kitchen until he comes inside. When he walks through the door, he tosses his keys on the counter. I brace myself for the words I know I’m going to hear, because I deserve them, and they’re going to hurt. But, nothing comes. No anger. No yelling. No… reaction at all.
He blows out a steady, controlled breath. “You stayed. Huh. I thought for sure you’d leave.”
“Where was I going to go? Hitchhike on a horse?” I point out sarcastically, because I’m nervous and I get sarcastic when I’m nervous.
He says nothing. Not a damn word but his glare, yeah, that’s enough to make my blood turn cold. And beg him to fuck me on the counter. Holy shit. Why is that glare so damn hot? Tie me to your bed. Hold me hostage. Give me your anger.
Kacy, no.
Say something. Explain yourself. “I’m so sorry,” I rush to say. “I can leave. I didn’t… I’m just so sorry I didn’t say anything.”