Page 36 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

She inhales a soft breath, then another. Finally, she’s looking at me clearly.

“Could you please take me to the hospital?” she asks quietly.

“Of course. Come on, let’s go.”

I help her lock up the café before leading her toward my car. She’s still extremely rattled. She picks at her fingernails all the way to the hospital. They’re raw and red by the time we arrive. I wait for her to jump out of the car, but when I look at her, the brightness in her blue eyes has dimmed.

“Emilia?” I call gently.

But she doesn’t reply.

CHAPTER 11

Emilia

People respond to trauma in so many different ways. When you’ve experienced a certain degree of pain in your life, it sticks to you like a wound that just never heals. Or a scar you can’t ignore.

My scars materialize in the worst ways, though. The littlest things bring out my memories of pain. And the worst things, as well. Like right now. I blame my earlier conversation with Sterling Harrington for the memory that now skips to the forefront of my mind. An incident that’s buried deep in my mind.

“Where are you going, Emmy?” he asked from his position on the couch.

A couch he never really left. My hand had been on the doorknob when I tensed at the sound of his voice. And then I slowly turned around. I should have known by the sinister smirk on his face that he was planning something nefarious. I should have gotten out of there as fast as I could, but I didn’t.

“To a movie,” I reply quietly, scared to make the wrong move.

Saying or doing the wrong thing had gotten me in so much trouble in the past. Even my body language could get her firedup. And she was in the kitchen, whistling a tune. It seemed like she was in a good mood. But with my mother, you could never really tell.

She stepped into the living room then, wiping her hands with a washcloth.

“You’re not going anywhere, Emilia,” she stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I made dinner and Lucas made some ice cream. It’s cooling in the fridge.”

She stood beside him on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. Lucas stared at me with his trademark drooly eyes. He always looked half asleep, probably because he was always drunk. And yet, I had seen him move so fast in an instant, throwing a glass cup at me that had sliced my cheek. He was dangerous, volatile.

But sometimes my mother scared me even more.

“He did?” I asked timidly.

The last thing I wanted to do was to eat a meal prepared by Lucas. Why had he even cooked in the first place? He never did that. And fucking ice cream? That was weird.

“Yes,” my mother replied, looking down at him with moon eyes. She leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. “Isn’t it sweet? It’s our anniversary today. Can you believe we’ve been together for ten years already?”

“Yeah, I can. Congratulations.”

He was a fucking drunk and a psychopath who enabled her and manipulated her into doing whatever he wanted her to. It wasn’t surprising he had managed to keep her under his thumb for ten years. Lucas had been a part of my life since I was six. I knew he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

“Go sit at the table, Emilia. You’re always hanging out with that boyfriend of yours instead of your family. It’s unacceptable.”

I swallowed. “Sorry, Mom.”

She nodded and I’m sure she would have said something more if he hadn’t distracted her by pulling her into his lap. I took the chance to quickly exit the living room, dutifully taking my seat at the dining table until they arrived. Once they did, we ate our meal and then I was asked to bring the ice cream from the fridge.

As soon as I set it on the table and locked eyes with Lucas, I knew something was wrong. My mother served all three of us generous heaps of the ice cream. When she handed me mine, I forced a small smile.

“What flavor is it?” I asked quietly.

They both turned to look at me sharply then. My mother gaped at me like me asking a simple question was a sin.

“Eat your ice cream, Emilia. Don’t be rude. Lucas put a lot of effort into making it for us,” she cautioned.

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