“That’s okay.” I pick up the doll and walk over to the sofa where they’re sitting. “I throw things around, too, when I’m upset.”
Mary takes the doll when I offer it back to her but then turns away from me.
Awesome. Now they’re all ignoring me.
“I should head home,” Octavia says, dropping a kiss on Cole’s hair. He looks up and smiles at her, and it hurts to see him happy.
Hurts in a good way.
“You’ll come back tomorrow, right?” Mary asks.
“Of course I will.” She ruffles my daughter’s hair. “Now be good and eat your dinner.”
“Stay!” Mary says, and it’s my turn to tense up.
They’re getting attached. This could end badly, because Octavia won’t be here always.
Nobody ever stays forever.
“I can’t, baby.” Octavia hugs Mary and gets up. “I have to get home.”
She pulls on her coat, grabs her purse and walks quickly to the door, probably predicting an oncoming crying fit.
I jump to my feet, following her. “Running home to your boyfriend?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
Her eyes widen. “That’s none of your business.”
She doesn’t deny it, though. “It is my damn business, if it affects my family.”
This time she gives me an incredulous look. “How would that affect your family?”
“You tell me. Maybe Ross is jealous of any man who’s near you.”
Her face pales and she grabs the door handle. “I have to go.”
“Yeah, run along to your boy toy.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses. “You don’t act that way with everyone. Why are you always so awful with me?”
Shock hits me. Tears shimmer in her eyes, and when I open my mouth to speak, I can’t find the words.
What the fuck… She’s right. I’m a fucking asshole to her, all the fucking time.
Throwing the door open all the way, she hurries out and down the steps, into the night. I watch her until she is swallowed by the darkness, belatedly wondering if I should have walked her to the bus stop, if I should have offered her a ride.
Wondering why I never have.
Why I treat her like that. Why I want her so badly.
Hours later, lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling like every night, I still have no explanation.
Chapter Sixteen
Octavia
“Hey you.” Adam pushes off the fence where he’s leaning, like always, and smiling at me.
He looks good, his brown curls tousled, his gaze bright. He’s wearing a khaki shirt that brings out the green of his eyes.
Something inside me relaxes when I see him. The implications of what Matt told me had frightened me. Ross wouldn’t go crazy like that, would he? To go around threatening any guy hanging out with me?
It’s true he especially liked bullying me at school—even more than he did the average classmate—but that doesn’t mean anything…
Does it?
I reach for Adam’s hand, and he looks down to where our fingers are tangled. “You missed me, huh?”
Matt’s words echo inside my head. “Run home to your boy toy.”
I frown.
“What is it, Tati?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I mean… Look, this may sound weird, but you didn’t happen to get any threatening messages lately, did you?”
He blinks at me with those bottle-green eyes. “Tati…”
“What?” I’m annoyed, and I’m not even sure why. It is a strange question, coming out of the blue, and now I feel like an idiot for asking.
But then he sighs. “Funny you mention that,” he says, his gaze clouding. “I did get a message. I wrote it off as a prank.”
“Oh my God, you’re not serious.” But his smile has faded. “You are. What did the message say? Where did you find it?”
My heart is hammering. I think I might hyperventilate.
He tugs on my hand, looking concerned. “Come sit down with me. It wasn’t that bad, Tati.”
I resist his tug, then give in and let him pull me to the bench outside my house. I glance at the kitchen window, then the one upstairs, in case Gigi is watching.
Nobody seems to be there.
Relaxing a little, I lean back and extricate my hand from his. Stupid, I know. I’m the one who took his hand in the first place.
I discreetly wipe my fingers on my pants.
He snorts as if I’ve done something funny, then leans back, too, looking up at the sky. “Like I said, it wasn’t anything too bad. I found a piece of paper stuck to my door this morning. It said, “Who were you with last night?””
Oh God, it does sound like the messages Matt received. “How…” I swallow hard, my throat dry. “How was it stuck to your door?”
“With tape. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Tati… Why did you ask me this? What happened? Did someone threaten you?” He looks earnestly at me, and I soften, unable to recall or make sense of why I was so annoyed before.
“No, it’s not me.” I suck in a deep breath. “Someone has been sticking weird messages to Matt Hansen’s door.”
“Matt Hansen? The guy whose kids you look after?”
“That’s the one.”
“You don’t think it’s me, right?” He gives a sheepish smile. “The other day when you asked me why I’m interested in Matt Hansen...”
A snicker escapes me. “Oh God, no.”
“Good.” His smile widens. “Because I might have been a bit jealous of him spending time with you at first, because you’re around his house so much, but now…” He wags his brows. “Not anymore.”
I laugh outright. “You’re crazy.”
“For you.”
My laughter fades. “So… who were you with last night?”
“What?”
“The message on your door.”
He leans away from me, mouth tightening. “I told you. I was visiting my sister.”
He did say that. I play with the hem of my shirt, trying to pinpoint the source of my unease. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight,” I hear myself say. “I feel like I’m coming down with something.”
I’m surprised to realize I really mean it. About wanting to turn in early, at least.
“No ice cream?” His face falls, and guilt sweeps through me.
But it’s not enough to make me change my mind. “Not tonight.” I get up, a bit unsteadily. “And you’re right about the messages. It’s probably a prank.”
I turn around to go, when he says, “No goodnight kiss?”
My stomach flops in a strange way. Excitement? Not sure what it is, but I shake my head. “Good night, Adam.”
As I trudge home and climb the stairs to my bedroom, I realize what’s bothering me.
He keeps calling me Tati, and it feels… overly familiar. Did I tell him to call me that? Frankly I can’t remember.
But even as my rational mind tells me it’s not a big deal, I still don’t like it.
Next morning the Hansen household is in a state of emergency—and not because of any new mysterious message.
“She won’t stop crying,” Matt tells me at the door, looking exhausted and disheveled, his black T-shirt clinging distractingly to his muscular chest and shoulders, his dark hair falling in his eyes. “Oh shit.”
Sure enough, a wail reaches my ears, and then Cole sobbing. “He’s crying, too?”