Page 49 of Vows of Betrayal

She picked up the remote and turned up the volume on the TV. “No, I won't. They fired me yesterday.”

I dropped my plate and pulled the remote out of her hands. I turned the TV off and grabbed her arm. “What do you mean, they fired you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “They fired me.”

I frowned and looked at her, feeling unbelievably confused. “Why? Because you took a few days off that they owed you?” I wasn't quite sure why I was so angry. I didn't want her working there. They'd done me a huge favor in getting rid of her.

“No, it was probably all the shit I stole. You know,” she gestured to the IV still dripping into my arm, “to keep you alive.”

Fuck.

I'd been in such a fevered haze that I hadn't considered where she'd gotten all this crap.

Fuck.

I was the reason she'd lost her job.

“You stole everything?”

She nodded and shrugged. “I tried to be careful. But I must've missed a camera or something.” She pulled the remote out of my hand and turned the TV back on. “It doesn't matter. I'll find another job soon enough. I always do.”

My stomach fell at hearing her words. She really didn't understand what was going on here.

“You're not getting another job. I have money for groceries, and I won't charge you rent.” I smiled at her, but she wasn't as amused. Why wasn't she jumping into my arms and thanking me for saving her from this fucking dump?

“Can we talk about it after my show? I haven't heard a word.”

Confusion, disappointment—and more confusion raced through me. Why was she acting this way? At any rate, I decided to drop it until later. Maybe she'd be in a better mood after her show.

Half an hour later, she still didn't want to discuss any travel plans. Or anything else. She did announce that it was time for me to get in the shower so she could change the sheets.

I was feeling pretty ripe, so I agreed. It was so much easier to get around now, but I still needed the chair in the shower. I did all my own washing. It took me a year, but at least I was able to do it myself. And get out of the shower and dry off.

When I opened the door, the kitchen was already cleaned, and she was in bed. Fuck, she looked amazing. Like she belonged on a centerfold instead of a shitty bed in a shitty apartment.

My stomach growled, which surprised me. I'd barely just finished supper. Instead of heading to bed, I walked to the kitchen to grab something. I tried to be as quiet as I could so I wouldn't wake Francesca. She seemed even more exhausted than usual. I opened a cupboard door and peeked in. A box of cookies sat on the middle shelf. I pulled it down, wincing slightly at the way my wound tugged at the movement. They were cheap, crappy cookies, but they hit the spot. I crunched down a good handful of them before slipping the box back into the cupboard. I spotted an empty bag on the counter. Francesca must've forgotten to put it away. I picked it up and looked inside. A small piece of paper floated to the floor. With some effort, I crouched down and grabbed it.

The light from the bathroom was still on, so I was able to see the words clearly enough.

It had the name of a church on it—nearby, from a quick look at the address.

And underneath that it read—food bank.

The groceries Francesca had brought home were from a fucking food bank.

“Jesus,” I whispered as I crumpled the paper in my hand. This was goddamn disturbing. I'd been reduced to being a fucking charity case.

Fuck.

Knowing I'd just eaten food that was meant for someone who couldn't afford food made me—angry. And knowing that Francesca had been the one to search out the food bank, walk inside, get the food, and bring it back home—I shook my head.

Never again.

My woman would never have to do this.

15

Stefan

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