Page 4 of My Mom's Man
The usual resentment toward Amara rears its ugly head. I’m not Emma’s father, yet I take care of her like I am. Everything is left up to me when it comes to that girl. It’s not her fault her mom can’t seem to get her life together.
With anger simmering on the surface, I shoot Amara a text.
Me: Working late again?
It takes her far too long to respond.
Amara: These big houses don’t clean themselves. I’ll grab something to eat later. You two go on and have dinner without me.
We have dinner a lot without her.
If she works so much for these rich fucks, how come I never see a penny of it? Not once has she offered to buy groceries or offer a cent toward a utility bill. Thisis getting ridiculous. She takes advantage of the fact I own the complex and don’t have to pay rent to myself.
Me: We need to talk.
I don’t send the text, though. Once I go down that road, everything unravels. I’ll be able to go home again without discomfort, but then I’ll be swimming in guilt. Who’s going to pick Emma up from school or make sure she doesn’t eat dinner alone?
Brayden may be right about Amara, but it doesn’t mean I have to end things right now with her. I can push through at least until May when Emma graduates. She’ll go off to college and I won’t feel like such a dick for taking her home away from her.
It’s not forever.
Just for now.
Until then, I’ll work to get my attitude in check. And the next time I think about dating a woman, I’m going for the exact opposite of my usual type.
The savior complex ends after Amara.
I’m done being the hero.
Emma
“It’s four-oh-seven.” I point at the clock above Coach Long’s head since I’ve been robbed of my phone. “You can release me from prison now.”
He snorts as he nosily scrolls through my phone. Then, I see him typing. Coach Long is the only teacher I know who doesn’t give a crap about what anyone thinks of him. Threats to his job wouldn’t work. You can’t fuck with the “unfuckwithable.”
“What you’re doing is fraud,” I huff out, shifting in the hard chair at my desk. “Pretending to be me.”
Finally, my annoying, grumpy teacher glances my way. “Just letting your daddy know how to get to my classroom.”
I jolt upright and glower at him. “Why is he coming here? You never made him come here before.”
“You never punched someone before,” he deadpans. “You’re lucky I didn’t take this to Principal Renner.”
Honestly, I’d rather have gone to the principal. He’s nicer than my coach.
“Wyatt had it coming. Just saying,” I grumble. “He’s an ass.”
“Wyattisan ass,” Coach Long agrees. “You only did what everyone else wanted to.”
I grin at him. “So basically, I’m the hero in this situation.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Abrams.”
Even though Coach Long can be a dick, I actually do like him. When I tried out for track, he was fair and judged everyone on their actual skill rather than how long they’d been in the district or who their parents were. It was nice to get something on my own merit.
Heavy footsteps smack the linoleum as a person nears the classroom. I know the gait of his walk. It’s as familiar to me as my own.
Because you obsess over every little thing with him…
