Page 142 of Wild Love
I picked up your kids and we are playing at your house until you get here. Beyond that, I’m not speaking to either of you man-children.
West:
You’re a lifesaver, Rosie Posie.
West:
Just so you know. I didn’t do anything wrong. Self-defense. I’m going to be the one pressing charges against him.
West:
Don’t be too hard on Ford. He’s already got that emo James Dean thing going on. You’re just making it worse.
West:
I mean, okay. We fucked up. I’m sorry.
West:
You are the only girl in the world I would send this many unanswered texts to in a row.
My first order of business is to pick up my niece and nephew. They make the switch at 3:00 p.m. on Saturdays, and as cool as Mia is, I’m not sure she’d appreciate knowing that West was locked up for assaulting a person.
A shitty person who deserved it, but still.
When we get back to West’s house, it’s warm enoughthat we have a water-gun fight and I make sure to give them freeziesandice cream. Because fuck West for pulling this shit.
I time it perfectly. We’re back inside watching cartoons when I hear Ford’s G-Wagon idling outside and the slam of the door as West hops out. When he walks in the door, the sugar is just settling into their bloodstream.
“Daddy!” Emmy shouts from the couch before barreling over the back of it and launching herself into her dad’s arms.
Me? I just stand watching him, arms crossed, wondering how the hell my parents got through raising him.
“Hi, Rosie.” West grins at me.
I scowl back, shaking my head. My brother winces, and if he were a dog, he’d do that thing where his ears droop and his eyes go wide like big guilty saucers.
Then I give both sugar demons a kiss, grab the basket of laundry I did at his place over the last couple of hours, and walk out the front door.
“Where are you going? Wanna stay for dinner? I’ll cook for you.”
Kiss ass.
“No thanks. I’m going to go drink my dinner on my dock.”
“Yourdock?”
I look back at my brother, ready to be the one who assaults a person if he tries to tell me it’s his. That dock has become my favorite place to sit, so he can fuck all the way off. I point down toward the water. “Yeah, West.Mydock.”
He tilts his head, brows furrowed. “Sis, that’s not yourdock. That’s not evenourdock. That dock is firmly on Ford’s property. I’ve seen land survey certificate.”
“No, it’s not. Ford told me it’s mine.”
West chuckles and shakes his head, leaving me standing at his door.
Dumbfounded.
Back at the old bunkhouse, I fold my laundry, unpack, and “accidentally” drop some crumbs on the floor while trying to make sense of this new development.
