Page 28 of This Life and All the Rest
I’d be lying if that didn’t bring me a little bit of joy. That’s what she gets for fucking off to France, instead of coming back home like she was supposed to.
“Why would you do that?” she asks finally, and I force myself to smile, making light of an otherwise difficult topic.
“The squirt’s been trying to walk,” I explain, pressing a kiss to Evie’s forehead before plopping her into her little 360-degree play center. She loves that fucking thing. It’s got a bunch of rattles and activity toy things, and she can stand and spin and bounce without the threat of taking any first steps.
I grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table to wipe the slobber off my face, then turn back to Lennon.
“But I think that’s something Mom and Trent should be around for, you know?”
Lennon’s face crumples when she realizes what I’m saying, so I shrug and look away.
“I’m just trying to encourage Evie to hold off a bit. To save her first steps for when Trent is awake and can see them.”
“Oh, wow. That’s, um...” She swallows and nods. “That’s very thoughtful.”
The surprise in her tone rubs me the wrong way, and I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not such a heartless prick after all.”
I walk past her and into kitchen, and I can hear her stand and follow.
“I didn’t say you were, Macon.”
“No, you just were surprised, right?” I keep my back to her and open the fridge. “Heartless, selfish Macon Davis. He doesn’t give two fucks about anyone but himself, yeah?”
“I didn’t say that, Macon. That’s not what I meant,” she argues as I pop the top on my soda and take a drink. I swear she growls when I refuse to look at her. “Jesus, what the fuck triggered this?”
I bark out a humorless laugh, finally making eye contact, and her anger fuels me. I force a smirk and drag my gaze over her body, purposely lingering on places that kick my heart up a beat.
“When’d you get such a filthy little mouth, Lennon?”
She narrows her eyes at me as I take another drink of my soda.
“Does the Frenchman have a dirty mouth, too? What else did you learn in France, huh?”
“Don’t do this, Macon,” she says slowly, shaking her head. “Don’t start. We were being civil.”
“Civil.” My lips curl cruelly, the word tasting like acid. “Is that what the French call fake as fuck?”
“Oh, fuck off, Macon.”
“No, you fuck off,Capri,” I say back, emphasizing her “name” with sarcasm.
I toss the full can in the sink, then turn and stalk toward the door. I need to get out of here. I’m itching for a cigarette or my wheel or a beating, but Lennon follows, hurling words at my back.
“It’s been four fucking years. We’re not kids anymore, okay? We’re different people now. What did you expect? We’d just pick up where we left off?”
I whirl on her, stopping her in her tracks.
“Oh, no. I definitely don’t want to pick up where we left off.”
Her head jerks back as if I’d spit on her, and her scowl turns meaner.
“And whose fault is that?” she seethes through gritted teeth.
“The way I remember it, it sure as shit wasn’t mine.”
“Then your memory is just as warped as your attit—”
