Page 64 of Doughn't Let Me Go

Which is exactly why I packed my crap and booked it out of there the moment I turned eighteen, without even graduating high school. She couldn’t report me as a runaway if I wasn’t a minor anymore. I was gone the morning of my birthday.

Some days I wonder if she even notices I’m gone. Not likely considering she hasn’t even bothered to reach out to me since.

But that’s all in the past. Now I’m here, living in a town I like and working toward making something of myself other than being Diana Palmer’s daughter, the girl walking around with holes in her shoes and jeans while her mother looks like a million bucks, the girl who’s had more stepdaddies than she has fingers.

I want more than what my mother ever gave herself.

“Hello, earth to Doris.”

I pull myself back to the present. Porter is waving his hand in front of my face.

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” It comes out a croak. I clear my throat. “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Sorry, just…thinking about my childhood.”

His eyes grow sad and he nods. “Not pretty?”

I laugh a bitter sound. “I’m sure yours was sunshine and roses compared to mine.”

For the first time, his gray eyes look dull, and the muscles in his jaw tick.

“What?” I challenge.

“Nothing.”

“I once heard a friend say nothing never meansnothing. I’d like to think he was right about that.”

“Winston is never right about anything.”

“Still,” I press.

“It’s just…I’d like it if you didn’t judge me for my wealth, okay? Just because youthinkI’m some rich prick doesn’t mean youknowthat. You don’t know me.” He turns away, that anger still sitting firmly in his jaw. “Now, can you please get me two plates?”

I set my empty mug down and pull two plates from the cabinet, setting them next to the stove without another word.

Porter flips the first finished pancake onto a plate and turns the other one upside down, fitting it perfectly over the top to trap the heat.

I move around him, back to the coffee pot. I am definitely going to need more coffee today, and I have a feeling he will too.

“You know,” I say quietly, “I wasn’t trying to judge you.”

“It felt like it, Doris. Ithasfelt like it, and I hate it. Do you feel like I judge you?”

“No.” I turn to him, eyes wide. He’s not looking at me. “Of course not.”

“Exactly.” He pours more batter. “Because I don’t. I don’t care where you came from. All I care is that you’re here now.”

My hands fumble to get the coffee canister open when I hear his words.

“For Kyrie,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t respond.

Because I know I don’t mean just for her, and he knows it too.

“YES!”

I jump at the sudden intrusion, but Porter doesn’t. It’s like he anticipated this interruption, his dad sense kicking in.

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