Page 195 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“So, how’d you get home?”
“Luck, I guess.”
“Lucky?”
“No, Ambrose,” I correct quickly, not wanting my brother to ask questions about that friendship. “He was driving by when Iran from the bar. I don’t know what he did, but he managed to get an apology out of one of them.”
“You go, big bro! Back to your protector role.”
Ambrose does something behind me, and in the tiny corner of the screen where our recording is, it looks like he mouths the word,Always.
“Good. You know, Dollie, I was gonna stay here tonight, but I can come over.”
“I’m fine, Annabelle, really. I’m just glad to be home. I can live without you until tomorrow.”
“Okay. But I’ll keep my phone on loud, even through round two. You come first.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Nyx. I won’t interrupt again tonight.”
“It’s fine. You can call anytime.”
“Thank you. But I’m at home, and as scary as it was, I’m safe now. Good night to you both.”
“Yeah, and to you both.” Annabelle smiles. “Keep an eye on my girl.” She does that thing people do, moving two fingers from her eyes to Ambrose, then back to her eyes.
Nyx simply waves, and I catch Ambrose doing the same as he sets down my brush. The similar mannerisms remind me of a time when they were friends—just two eight-year-olds, running around this town and racking up my mother’s anxiety.
As I hang up, I wonder to myself, does Ambrose ever get lonely?
And I almost ask him to stay and watch a Barbie princess trade places with a pauper, but when I turn around, silent steps have already taken him away.
CHAPTER 46
Dollie—present day
The echo of screams wakes me from my sleep. A fear that rumbles deep down in my soul tells me that I’m reliving the night that my parents died.
My heart pounds as I sit up on the chaise lounge.
It isn’t real. It isn’t real.
I quickly glance at Bubbles, her ears sticking up on alert because she hears the noise, too.
The logical explanation is that Ambrose is having a nightmare—a very loud one. I suffered those when I was really little, and so did he. For him, they started after we got home from that basement. I got so many bruises on my arms and legs at that time as he gripped me and kicked out in his sleep.
But a small part of me fears that it isn’t Ambrose, and that’s the reason I stay here, cemented to the chair, Duggan in hand. His tie frays beneath my fingers as I sit beyond a wall built up of my favorite things.
Another scream, this one louder but unmistakably Ambrose.
Bubbles barks in my face as if asking why I’m still sitting here. Why am I not helping the person she loves most in theworld? Regardless of what I do for her, she still loves him undeniably.
Another bark, and she circles herself, skidding on the shiny floor.
“He’ll be okay.”
Ignoring me, she barks again and rushes out into the foyer.
My legs quiver and threaten to give out with each step I take. Duggan comes with me, providing a bit of moral support.
