I’m upstairs preparing to climb in the shower. My back is killing me after sleeping on the hard floor all night, and I’m covered in pancake batter from breakfast. Connor said he’d take the kids out so I can wash up. The water is running as I strip off my white shirt and remove my bra when I hear it; the most blood-curdling scream that is so loud it makes my stomach drop. Yanking my white shirt from the floor I fly out of the bathroom as I tug it over my head. Somebody is hurt—badly. I’m pretty sure no one in the history of mankind has moved as fast as I do as I rush down the stairs and outside to the backyard where the scream came from. Bursting out the screen door and down the steps, I halt abruptly when I see Mark and McKenzie rolling around in the grass as Mark tries to stop McKenzie from clubbing him with her fists.
“What the hell is going on?” I shout as I rush over meaning to break them up.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Connor is suddenly behind me, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me back. The way his arm is positioned, it’s touching under the swell of my breasts, and I quickly scramble out of his hold, realizing I’m not wearing a bra.
If Connor noticed I was wearing one or not, I have no idea. He turns and with great ease? yanks Kenzie off of Mark and sets her on her feet. Now that she’s standing, I can see she is soaked from head to toe, her eye makeup is smeared down her face, her clothes are plastered to her. Looking back I find J.J. and Mary-Anne scrubbing my car with sponges and Grayson sitting on the ground a few feet away nibbling on animal cookies. None of them seem at all phased by Mark and McKenzie. I guess this is a norm for them.
Mark hops up and brushes his chest. “You are craayyzzyyy,” he yells at McKenzie.
“You dumped an entire bucket of soapy water on me, asshole!”
“McKenzie!” I scold. “Watch your mouth!”
“I won’t watch my mouth!” she seethes. “He is an asshole!”
“McKenzie Tuffman, don’t make me call your mother!”
“Ohhh,” she laughs with disdain as she raises her arms and flaps her hands, feigning fear. “Don’t call Mommy.”
“Okay,” Connor interjects. “Everyone needs to calm down.”
“Good luck getting her to calm down,” Mark snorts. “Kenz is bat-shit crazy.”
McKenzie darts toward him to attack, but Connor reaches out an arm and stops her, pulling her back. She growls and pushes away from him as she stumbles back. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps. Connor raises his hands in apology, his brows rising in shock. “My parents talk about you, ya know?”
“Shut up, Kenz!” Mark yells. But Kenz is on the maddening and often runaway train of teenage hormones. There’s no stopping her.
“You killed a man, right?”
My heart drops as I watch the ridiculing glare she gives Connor. I don’t know where it comes from or why, but my need to protect Connor from such rude scrutiny seizes me. I lurch forward and grab her arm, yanking her, so she’s facing me.
“This is my house,” I growl, through gritted teeth. “That,” I point to the garage apartment, “is Connor’s house. You are a guest here, and you will speak to both of us with respect. Do you understand me?”
Kenzie yanks her arm from my grip and backs away. “I hate this house,” she affirms, her tone angry, but far lower than before. “My mom knew it, too.” With that, she spins around and sprints inside. I shake my head not understanding why she’d hate my house. She used to love sleeping over here.
“This is her every day, Dem,” Mark comments, but flinches a little when I whip around on him, my anger apparently quite evident in my expression. “No more cursing and leave her alone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” he answers quietly.
“Now go in and start making bologna sandwiches for everyone.” He groans under his breath but does as I ask. Turning to Connor, I shake my head. I can’t believe McKenzie said all that. I’m so embarrassed.