Page 53 of Wild Love
I’m talking about the job, the assault, and he knows it.
His arms tighten around me, and his voice comes out like pure venom when he says, “No one should ever have made you feel like it’s your job to rise above this. You’re allowed to process however you need to, Rosie. But me? I’m going to ruin them.”
Ford’s rough words wash the anxiety from my body, and I sigh. “Please don’t tell anyone. Only you and Ryan know. And I don’t want to rehash this all.”
He stiffens and his voice is chill when he asks, “And what did Ryan do about it?”
“I don’t need anyone to do anything about it,” I answer vaguely, burying my face against him even harder, like I have only once before in my life. I was scared then too. “Just telling you feels good.”
His only response is to kiss my hair again and hold me for a few more seconds.
Then Ford lets me go and walks me to my door like a perfect gentleman. And when I crawl into bed, I don’t replay any of his words. With that secret off my chest, safe in Ford’s capable hands, I finally relax and sleep like the dead.
Because as much as I don’t need a knight in shining armor to defend my honor, I’m relieved I have one who feels compelled to do so.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FORD
I’m tired.Tired from a night spent researching Stan Cumberland and Apex Construction Materials—all of which I found on Rosie’s LinkedIn profile. After I put the Rage Against the Machine version of “How I Could Just Kill a Man” on full blast in my AirPods, I went on a hunting expedition to find out everything I could about the guy.
I just dropped Cora off at school. This morning, she got to talk to her mom on the phone again. She found out we’ll be able to go for a visit soon, and that news lightened her entire demeanor. Then she talked about Rosie the whole way to school. A literal stream of consciousness. I have never seen the girl talk more.
It affirmed the fact that we are probably both obsessed with Rosalie Belmont. The only difference is I’m not the one wearing her bright-pink scrunchie this morning.
Cora is.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her bounce into school. Black and gray from head to toe, but with a blinding pop of pink to tie off the thick braid hanging down her back.
I think about watching Rosie go back to leave that scrunchie for Cora. A token of something I wasn’t privy to. And I don’t need to be. Seeing the way Cora smiled when she came down this morning with it in her hair was enough to know it meant something to them.
I spend the drive back to work running through the list of emails I need to respond to. The calendar I need to create based on a recording studio that has a constantly changing completion date. The inroads I need to make with different labels so that the music I produce doesn’t just languish here in the mountains. The contracts I need to draw up, the orders I need to sign off on, the bills I need to pay for both the studioandthe bar.
All that is to say, I spend the drive stressing out about all the things in my life I can’t control. So naturally, when I walk into work, the first place my eyes go is to Rosie’s desk. It’s empty, which is just as well. She doesn’t need me panting around after her when she already has so much on her shoulders. I hope she slept in.
But when I get to my desk, I know she hasn’t. Because there’s another torn page from her journal on my desk. I can’t help but laugh when I pick it up and read the yellow Post-it note on top. It says, “Thanks for last night. You owed me one anyway.”
Confused, I remove the sticky piece of paper and read on.
Dear Diary,
Today I broke my thumb on some vacation bitch’s face. West had to drive me to the hospital because Mom and Dad were both working.
You’d think he’d be worried about me, but nope. He told me he was disappointed I didn’t know how to make a proper fist. He told me I should have pulled her hair instead. I foresee some very questionable fighting lessons in my future based on the way he ranted about how the thumb never goes inside the fist.
How was I supposed to know? I’ve never hit someone. Happy, good girl Rosie doesn’t hit people. Truthfully, I’ve never felt inclined before today.
I’m sad because I’m sure my upcoming volleyball season is fucked.
But I’m not sad I punched her.
I lied and told everyone she insulted Tabitha’s family by making comments about Erika. I only said that because I knew no one would talk about it. That tale is one of those small-town stories that only gets whispered about behind closed doors.
The truth is, she said Ford could be hot if he lost the glasses and found a personality.
She must be stupid because Ford looks just fine, and his personality is good too. She’s probably just embarrassed because he said something funny and she needed her airhead friend to draw a cartoon to explain it to her.
Plus, I’m allowed to rag on him. But I don’t like it when other people do.
