Page 56 of The Contractor's Rose
Teagan’s voice sharpened like a blade. “If it wasn’t for you, you and I wouldn’t be in this mess thenandnow!”
Elodie fired back, “What the hell are you talking about? You pushed me out the second life got hard, Teag.” Her voice broke and her tone softened as if she could sense this was bigger than Rose and I. “You got dealt cards that would fuck anyone up. I wanted to be there but you never let me back in.”
“And apparently that was the right choice," Teagan spat. “I’m pretty sure what you were doing with the bartender last night still makes you a liar and cheater.”
“Enough!” My voice cracked through the station, louder than I intended. All three of them snapped their attention to me.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I knew enough to recognize the edge in Teagan’s voice—the bitterness that had never healed. The grief she’d never let herself face. The truth she’d never said aloud. And right now, she was lashing out at everyone in reach.
My hands were clenched. My jaw was tight. This was my fault. I’d created this disaster.
The pressure in my chest was almost unbearable, and I didn’t know who I was more furious with—Teagan, for never letting go of a grudge she wouldn’t even explain. Elodie, for something that had clearly broken a part of my daughter I never even saw. Or myself … for loving the hell out Rose, who didn’t belong in any of this.
But when Rose stepped forward and gently laid her hand over mine—calm, warm, grounding—it was the only thing keeping me upright. I loved her. I loved Rosemarie Carter.
I took a breath, forcing my voice to steady.
“We’re done yelling in this goddamn station,” I said, eyes sweeping over the three of them. Then I pointed. “You”—I looked directly at Teagan—“are coming home. I don’t care that you’re twenty-seven and an adult. We need to talk.”
She opened her mouth, but I raised a hand and kept going.
“You”—I turned to Elodie—“are getting dropped off when I drop off Rose.”
And then, finally, my eyes met Rose’s. My hand dropped. My voice softened. So did my stare. “And you … we’ll talk later.” There was so much I wanted to say to her. So much I couldn’t. Not here.
I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders.
“Now everyone, get in the truck. This willnotbe like old times. No one gets ice cream on the way home. If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
They stared at me in stunned silence for a moment. Then, slowly, they started to move—grudgingly, stiffly—out the door toward the truck.
And God help me, I didn’t know how we were going to survive this ride, but I did know one thing—Rose’s fingers brushed mine on the way out, and that alone told me we would survive the rest.
TWENTY-NINE
GAVIN
I droppedthem off without getting out of the truck. It felt wrong not walking Rose up to her door, as I’d done many nights before.
Elodie exited the car with a quick thanks to me and nothing more, eyes straight ahead, spine stiff with pride and anger. She didn’t look back—not at me, not at Teagan, not even at Rose. But Rose lingered. She turned to me slowly, her gaze locking with mine.
There was so much in her eyes—questions she wouldn’t ask in front of my daughter, reassurances she didn’t need me to speak aloud. A quiet understanding. She got it. All of it.
I should have said something. A goodbye. A thank you. Tell her the revelation I’d had standing in that station. That I love her.
But Teagan was sitting here too, tight as a coiled spring, radiating resentment and grief like heat off a metal slide at the park on a bright sunny day.
So I gave Rose the only thing I could: a look. One that saidI’ll call you. I promise.She nodded almost imperceptibly,like she heard the words in my head. And then she stepped out, yesterday’s curls loose and swaying at her shoulders, the door clicking shut like a final note on a song I didn’t want to end.
Then it was just me and Teagan. The silence stretched long and sharp, like barbed wire wrapped around old wounds. I adjusted my grip on the wheel as I pulled away and headed home, knuckles tight and white.
“Teagan …”
Nothing. Not even a shift of her shoulders. I sighed, loud and tired, and glanced over. She was turned fully toward the window, arms crossed like armor, jaw tight enough to crack.
“I need you to talk to me,” I said. “About what happened back there. About … everything.” Still no answer.
“Teag, please.” My voice caught, raw in my throat. “Talk to me. Scream at me, throw something, I don’t care. But don’t just sit there like I’m a stranger. I know you’re angry. I know. But I can’t fix what I don’t understand.”
