Page 17 of Loaded Laces

Her surprise quickly turns to anger.

But not at her son.

Instead, she turns murder-filled eyes my direction, opens her mouth, and?—

I dive in to stop the blowup.

“What time does school start?”

Eight

Belle

I snagthe bag of groceries from the trunk of my car and freeze.

Because a male arm is reaching by me, brushing my hand away, grabbing all the handles of the bags at once, and hauling them out of the trunk.

My body is tense…but not from surprise.

Every time I’ve shown up with something to carry in from my car over the last month, West has been there…or well,here.

Popping up behind me, snagging whatever I need to bring inside, not taking no for an answer.

“I’ll grab that one,” Quinn says, having unbuckled and rounded the back of the car.

And my son doesn’t take no for an answer either with the tasks that West has inserted himself in—those being carrying things inside for me, taking the trash out, and…turning the channels on the remote at warp speed.

Okay, that’s not fair.

Or not entirely, anyway.

West is also big on dishes, and cooking dinner, and moving my laundry around when I forget it in the washer, and helping Quinn with his homework, and…

He’s a good roommate.

He’s a good man.

And…Istillcan’t believe the nerve of him, going around me, getting Quinn on his side in a way that meant I couldn’t pack us up and go.

Not that I could have done that anyway.

We didn’t have anywhere to go, and he gave me an out, and we weren’t even late for school.

Because I couldn’t say no.

And Quinn didn’t want me to.

Neither did West.

And, frankly, he also wasn’t wrong about being out of town a lot.

I swear that Quinn and I have spent more time in his house than he has over the last few weeks.

So much time I’m worried that Quinn is gettingtooused to the space, to the luxury, to something I won’t ever be able to provide him.

Hell, I’m worriedI’mgetting too attached to it.

The consistently hot water, the space, the quiet. No people pounding around overhead. No neighbors screaming through the walls—or worse. The back yard where Quinn and I can kick a soccer ball around, the driveway with a basketball hoop he can utilize any time and I don’t have to worry about him being safe.

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