Page 26 of The Alpha's Assistant & The Dom Next Door
“Since I was three. She has a kind of mental disorder—and she’s a complete bitch on top ofthat.”
He opens the gate for me. “Maybe you should get a restraining order. I don’t want to get in your business uninvited, but if she’s been this way for almost twenty years, she’s not gonnachange.”
His garden is immaculate, populated with nontoxic trees and flowers to go with its clover and chamomile lawn. Even his yard is kid-safe. I wonder if he redid the landscapinghimself.
I drink in the sight and scents, letting them soothe me. “I know,” I reply once I’ve centered myself a little. “It’s part of why I moved out of our family home. But she doesn’t seem to be satisfied with just driving meaway.”
“If she’s as narcissistic as she seems, they’re all like that.” His tone is tired and knowing as he leads me up onto the porch. His house is twice the size of mine, the porch double-deep beneath a matching wraparound balcony. “Narcissists drive people away with their behavior, but then they get desperate for attention and go chasing afterthem.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I comment as he unlocks his door. He nods mutely, an ironic smile ghosting across his face as he looks back over hisshoulder.
Maybe he’s right and I should get a protection order against Shayla. I’m tired ofthis.
A blast of warm air hits me in the face as I step in behind him. It smells of toasted bread, mint, and faintly of damp doggie. No sooner is the door shut than two small figures race out of the living room, one dressed in pink, the other in goldfur.
The latter, all wagging tail and flailing paws, pounces on my shoe, and I feel the last of my tension dissolve as I watch the little guy untie it with his little black-jowled mouth. “Well, hithere!”
“Daddy, you promised cocoa,” the tiny blonde imp clinging to Carl’s leg pouts slightly and then turns to look at me. “Hi, did you come to see my newpuppy?”
“Hi! I’m Emmeline. Um, I’m your neighbor. Your dad invited me over for cocoa.” I reach down and scratch the puppy’s ears, and he starts trying to engulf my fingertips in hismouth.
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Jenny. My daddy’s named Carl, but you can call himDaddy.”
Carl suddenly bursts into a coughing fit, harrumphing and pressing a fist against hismouth.
“Um. Okay, thanks for that?” I smile awkwardly, wondering what Carl finds so funny, and why he’s hiding hislaughter.
Chapter4
Carl
Something about this whole Shayla situation stinks, but I’m too busy being glad that Emmeline and I are finally talking, that for a while, the ugly truth doesn’t sink in. But minutes later, when I’m stirring melted chocolate into milk and listening to Jenny brag about her new dog to our neighbour, I feel my hackles go up. Long experience tells me that Emmeline’s hiding just how bad the situation with her sisteris.
I don’t know if Shayla is a cokehead or just naturally unstable. My guess either way is that she’s a typical abuser: deep down she knows that what she is doing is wrong, and tries to keep it under wraps in public to avoid criticism, which she clearly cannotstand.
I’ve dealt with tons of coke-fueled narcissists and paranoids before. During the early noughties it seemed like every single grower from Mexico to Jamaica to Humboldt was snorting half their profits to “keep sharp.” I would show up to make my pickup, and some twitchy, argumentative addict would start fucking with me over price, amounts, packaging, and every other damnthing.
Cocaine confidence makes crazy idiots out of people, which is part of why I never touch or sell anything besides pot. Cokeheads always think they’re the masters of the universe while they’re flying, only to turn into desperate assholes as soon as they touch down. Either way, you’re dealing with an irrational person who nine times out of ten will be a dick just to watch how it affectsyou.
It’s even worse when they’re related toyou.
I only know that one second-hand, though. I don’t have much in the way of family. I’ve got some cousins out of state that I grew up with, and I check in on Mary’s mom to let her see her granddaughter every week orso.
She’s a nice lady—and hurt as hell over what Mary did. We had that in common, though I’ve finally made my peace withit.
I’ve committed myself to helping her feel a little less alone. Propping “Gramma Carol” up and looking after my little girl helped me get through. It’s a lot easier to be strong through a heartbreak when you’re being strong for someoneelse.
I sigh and keep stirring, knowing that if I let the cocoa boil it will separate and get nasty. Easier to throw a packet of some chalky stuff into warm milk, but that’s not how I roll. Not with my little girl, and not with my hot, adorable, and very distressedguest.
Emmeline might be bearing up well, but I can tell she’s suffering under it all. Her voice is almost overly gentle right now as she talks to my daughter in the other room. Now and again it grows a littlebreathless.
I wonder how many times she turns her head to check the windows while I’m in here making cocoa. She did it constantly when I was in the room withthem.
I wonder if she’s checking for Shayla, and if so, if Shayla is actually the sort to lurk at strangers’ windows. If I do find her out there, I’ll call my buddy Jake at the precinct to come take care of it. Better that than give in to the temptation to pitch her over the fence like a sack oftrash.
When I walk in with two mugs and one insulated sippy cup of hot cocoa, the dog gets underfoot, excited at the new smell. Jenny giggles, and Emmeline gets up to corral the little guy before I can trip over him. “Thanks,” I grump good-naturedly as I set down the tray on our cherry coffeetable.
Jenny toddles over with her hands out and nearly gets tripped by the dog herself. Emmeline grabs the little beast again and wrestles with him while Jenny rights herself and takes her prize, immediately taking a swallow. This is why I always cool hers with an extra dollop ofmilk.
