Page 67 of The Good Girl

Yeah, it’s childish, but I don’t feel guilty about it.

Havoc waits for me by the door, a smile on his face. “How is it you manage to take a shitty day and make it somehow brighter?”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” I reply, flashing a grin.

He bends down and kisses me. “That you are.” He opens the door and leads us inside, taking me straight to the living room.

It’s bigger than I thought it would be, with a couple of large, comfy-looking sofas and a huge TV mounted on the wall. A dining table sits at the far end of the room, and just beyond that is a small bookcase with a chair beside it, next to the window that overlooks the backyard.

“Jesus, it looks exactly the same. I thought Driller would have done something to it just to piss me off.”

“That probably required effort, and he looks like a lazy pig to me,” I grumble.

“You want us to crash here with you, Pres, or get a motel?”

I turn at the sound of Kruger’s voice.

“I want you to stay even though it won’t be comfortable. I don’t trust anyone here but you guys.”

“Don’t worry about us. We’d only worry if we left anyway,” Mac says as he throws himself down onto the sofa.

“Let me go see if I can find some blankets.” I pull free from Havoc’s hold despite his protest. “I’m not leaving the house. Chill.”

Toot laughs. “Only you, Tinkerbell, would tell the president to chill.”

“Well, he’s not my president,” I remind him, calling over my shoulder as I leave the room to their teasing and head upstairs.

The first door opens to a small bathroom, so I don’t bother checking it and move on. The next leads to a small room that most people would use as an office, and maybe once upon a time, it had been. Now, the room’s empty while the walls are being painted a sunny yellow. It’s a special kind of cruel to decorate a room in the house that belongs to your ex for a baby that should have been his.

I close the door harder than necessary, angry at Lola all over again. She didn’t say a word to me at the clubhouse, which surprised me. I figured she’d be loud and opinionated, trying to put me in my place, but no. She never even looked at me. She just sat quietly in the corner, pretending she didn’t notice me, just like I did to her.

Then again, I have Crane watching me. If she had approached, Crane would have shut her down before she got even a couple of words out.

I walk farther down the hall and open the next door. As soon as it swings wide, I freeze in the doorway, realizing this is the main bedroom.

I don’t consider myself a jealous person, or at least I haven’t before. Maybe that was because I didn’t care enough about someone to stir up those feelings. Now, though, the thought of Lola and Havoc rolling around on that bed once upon a time makes me want to take a knife to the sheets and a match to the wooden bedframe.

It might not be rational. Their relationship was dead long before I came along, but it doesn’t stop the twisted thoughts from running through my head. I’m not an idiot. As much of a bitch as she’s been, there is no denying how beautiful she is. I could easily picture her and Havoc together. But if she’s his type, why the heck is he with me?

I blow out a frustrated sigh, snapping at myself to not be that girl. The one who compares herself to others just to highlight my flaws.

Looking around the room, I spot a chest at the end of the bed. I walk over and open it, expecting to find blankets, but instead, I find baby clothes––a few plain white onesies, a couple of knitted hats, and a pair of tiny booties. My heart squeezes as I close the lid and move to the dresser to search through the drawers.

I can’t imagine what this must feel like for Havoc. Even if all the love between them is gone, it still has to hurt that she cares so little for him that she is now growing his brother’s kid.

The drawers and closet don’t reveal any blankets either. What I do find is a lack of clothing. Don’t get me wrong, there are a few pairs of jeans and some T-shirts, a pair of motorcycle boots in the closet near the back, a fur-lined winter jacket, and a few thermal shirts. As most of its men’s clothing, I assume they belong to Driller.

Either Driller doesn’t own a lot of shit, or there is trouble in paradise. That’s the thing about the grass looking greener on the other side––people expect it to be the same for them, too. They never think about the work it takes to keep it that way. Without the effort, the green fades, and what once thrived withers and dies.

Part of me feels vindicated that whatever Lola shares with Driller is nothing like she had with Havoc–– or what I have with him. But the other part feels sad for the kid. No matter what happens, that baby will still be Havoc’s niece or nephew. I don’twant them to suffer because the adults in their lives made foolish choices and are now facing the consequences.

Not bothering to figure out where Lola keeps her clothes, I leave the bedroom and head down to the last door and finally find what I’m looking for. There aren’t many, but it’s better than nothing. I grab the blankets and a couple of pillows from the top shelf before heading back downstairs.

The guys are talking quietly when I walk in, but I don’t think they’re talking about me, more about the situation and how crappy it is.

“This is all I could find,” I say, passing everything to Kruger, who takes it with a wink.

“Don’t worry, Tink. This’ll do just fine.”

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