Page 63 of Before This Ends (Before)

“You’re home,” she says, and Winter’s head turns my way. A second later, she’s off the step stool she was using to stand on and running across the room. Removing my gun, I place it on top of the shelf until I can put it in my safe and catch her in midair.

“Where is Emma?”

“Where’s Emma? No ‘I missed you, Dad’?” I tickle her.

“I missed you, Dad.” She giggles, leaning back from me, and it’s then I notice her hair is shorter than it was last night when I saw her. Not much, but enough that I can tell.

“Did you go to the salon today?”

“Yes, Mom took me, and—” She holds up her hands. “—I got my nails painted.”

“Pretty.” I smile at her pink glitter-painted fingernails, then glance over at Hazel.

“You didn’t mention you were going to take her to get her hair cut.”

“I noticed it wasn’t even, so I took her somewhere to have it fixed.” If Winter wasn’t in my arms, I would call her on her bullshit. Her hair was fine. She probably just didn’t like that Emma was the one who gave her that cut. If it had been Miranda, she would’ve left it.

“Is Emma coming over?” Winter asks, and I look down at her as I carry her to the kitchen.

“She is on her way now.” And since I got a text from her about fifteen minutes ago when she was leaving her apartment after packing the overnight bag, I asked her to bring, I’m gonna guess she should be here any minute.

“I didn’t know she’d be here for dinner,” Hazel says from the stove, and my jaw clenches.

Last evening, we had dinner together because I walked through the door just as she and Winter were ordering pizza. It wasn’t planned; it was convenient. And since Emma was having a drink with Miranda, I knew I could give Winter a little time with her parents together—something she always enjoys.

That was not my plan for this evening.

I had my cell on me all day, and Hazel messaged twice—once to ask if I knew what time I would be home, and another was just a photo of Winter and her together. She didn’t ask if I had plans or tell me she was going to take Winter to cut her hair. And she sure as fuck never mentioned dinner. Normally when she is in town, she stays with Winter at a hotel nearby, or downstairs at Dayton’s if he’s out of town, and I’ll see them for a couple of hours here and there if they decide to come over and spend time with everyone. But Hazel has never been in my home when I’m not here, and she’s done it twice this trip.

Still, as frustrated as I am with Hazel, I can feel Winter watching me, and I don’t like to fight or argue with her mom in front of her. “If you didn’t make enough, Emma and I can order something.”

“There should be enough,” she mutters right as there is a knock on the door. Before I can turn to answer it, Winter runs past me and swings the door in.

“Hey, honey.” Emma smiles down at her when Winter lunges and wraps her arms around her waist.

“Mom and I made dinner.”

Emma jolts at this news, and her head flies up, her eyes first colliding with mine before going to Hazel. Her smile falters, but only slightly, before she drops her gaze back to Winter. “Did you?”

“Yes, but Mom can’t cook, so we just made macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.”

“That still sounds delicious.” Emma lets Winter go as I get close.

“Hey, baby.” I lean in, kiss my favorite spot right at the edge of her mouth, and whisper, “Sorry,” before I lean back and take the bag she’s carrying. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“Please,” she says quietly, and I nod, then grab her hand. I don’t take her bag to my room; I drop it on the couch, then walk her to the kitchen. With the way Hazel is acting, I’m not sure I trust her alone with Emma. I don’t think she would go out of her way to hurt her, but she has a sharp tongue, and I’d rather Emma not be on the receiving end of it and caught off guard.

“Can we eat at the table?” Winter asks, climbing back up on the step stool next to her mom, and Hazel glances quickly at Emma.

Last night, Winter asked the same question, then told her mom that when Emma is over, we always “eat at the table, like a family.” The last part was something she added on her own, and being young, she missed the hurt that slashed across her mom’s features.

“Sure.” I smile at her, and she grins back before leaning into her mom.

“So, Emma, you work with Miranda?” Hazel asks, taking the pot of macaroni and cheese off the stove.

“I do. We’ve always worked together.”

“How did you two meet?” she asks.

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