Page 47 of For The Weekend
“Fuck.” I grit my teeth and toss my phone on my desk, my fists clenching with the need to relieve this pent-up stress.
This is so fucked up.
I may have thrown away a lot in life because of my addiction, but I refuse to give up anything else because of it. I made it out, and like my mother, I won’t let my child suffer because they have a parent who continues to let it rule their life. I’m not above taking Mazie away from Amy. I don’t want to.
But I will if I have to.
I slump into my chair, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
That call, it’s a reminder.
Of why I won’t get into another serious relationship. Why I can’t let myself fall for someone, why I can’t let Mazie become attached. Because even though Eloise is obviously not Amy, even though she’s sunshine and warmth and everything good in this world, I can’t risk it. I can’t risk Mazie being hurt again when she’s doing so well. I can’t risk myself when I moved for a fresh start.
It’s been a few days since Eloise and I went to dinner, since that kiss that left me reeling. We’ve texted, flirted, talked about the wedding weekend. But it’s not enough. I want more. I want her. And that scares the shit out of me.
Not only for Mazie and me, but for Eloise too.
I’m a mess. A fucked-up, broken mess with baggage, a past, and a daughter who needs me to be strong, to be stable. I can’tafford to lose my head or my heart. Not even to Eloise, who I fear has already taken a much-too-large piece of it.
I’m so fucking screwed.
I glance at my phone and the photo of Mazie smiling with a Rocket Pop in her hand, blue popsicle juice smeared all over her mouth. I’ll do anything to protect her joy and innocence. She deserves to remain a happy child as long as possible.
But even as I know I need to protect her, it’s impossible to keep my distance from Eloise. I’m already in too deep.
I have been since I first laid eyes on her.
That was it. I was done.
And I fear I’ve fucked everything up. Without thinking, I type out a text to my brother to see where he is, and I thankfully don’t need to wait long for his response. Even though it’s not my lunchtime yet, I pocket my phone and head out with a few directions to Shawn and Luis. Then I drive to Griffin’s house.
He’s waiting for me by the door of his suburban Colonial with flower beds, an American flag flying, and aFeminists Live Heredoormat. He opens the door for me, brows pinched together, and I’m not sure exactly what to say to him now that two of us are finally alone.
Thanks for letting me stop by.
Sorry I’m a dick.
I’m surprised you have so many houseplants.
So, channeling Eloise, I blurt out the thing that’s been plaguing my mind. “How do I know I’m doing the right thing?”
Griffin doesn’t answer, merely studies me from top to bottom. “Take your shoes off. Don’t want you fucking up my carpet with oil.”
I shuck off my boots as I hear soft footfalls before seeing a young woman coming toward us in ripped jeans and a sweater falling off her shoulder. She smiles at Griffin and thenat me, her voice edged with a Southern twang when she says, “Hi, you must be Roman.”
I nod and take her outstretched hand.
“I’m Andi. I was about to make lunch. Would you like to stay?”
I glance at Griffin to answer, but he’s as stoic as ever, so I turn back to her with a shrug, and she reaches out to my arm, squeezing. “It’s leftover pulled pork. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” Griffin answers for me, watching her like a hawk, though it’s less predatory and more like security. Like he wants to make sure she’s safe at all times, even in their own home.
I know the feeling.
“Sounds great,” I say.
“Good. Why don’t you two have a chat? It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.” Andi’s smile has yet to drop. She’s a petite thing, and, if I had to guess, about thirty years old. Same as Eloise. I’d heard they were friends, but I imagine Eloise is friends with everyone. She could charm the devil.
