Page 8 of This Life and All the Rest
I throw up my palms.I’m stopping, I say with the gesture, and she sighs and changes the subject.
“Are you going to the hospital today?”
“Yeah. I took the day off, so I’m going to go by now and then I can watch the squirt for you if you want to go this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Macon.” Her voice is heavy with both exhaustion and gratitude. I shake my head.
“You don’t need to thank me, Ma,” I tell her honestly. “I like watching her. You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself.”
She smiles softly and nods, then glances over my shoulder. I tense.
“Are you going to be okay?” she whispers, flicking her eyes from the doorway behind me to my face and back. “With her here. Are you going to—”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
I can’t tell if it’s the truth. I don’t know if the buzzing in my head and the tightness in my chest is going to get worse or better with Lennon’s presence.
Just being around her for four minutes left me feeling moreeverythingthan I’ve felt in the last four years. And I’ve felta lotin the last four years.
“I can handle it,” I stress. “That shit is in the past.”
The words are heavy and sour on my tongue. The moment I speak them, I regret it. But my mom’s forehead smooths, and her lips curve up, telling me I’ve at least eased her concern for the moment. Good. She’s got enough shit to worry about right now. My sanity teetering on the edge of a fucking cliff shouldn’t even be on her radar.
“I’ll be back this afternoon, okay?” She nods and gives me another hug.
I blow a raspberry on Evie’s cheek and leave both the kid and my mom in giggles. My step is lighter until I walk outside and run smack into a soft, familiar body.
That’s where the familiarity ends.
Vanilla.
Lennon huffs and rolls her eyes, then backs away without saying a word. She looks back at her phone and tries her best to ignore me.
I should walk away.
It’s better for everyone if I walk away.
But I’ve never been good at doing what I should when it comes to her, and everything about her annoys me right now. The black skinny jeans and black tank top. The tiny tattoo on the inside of her upper arm. The black designer sunglasses she has perched on the top of her head, holding back her wavy auburn hair.
Capri. What a fucking joke.
I wonder if the Frenchman gave her the flashy rose gold bracelet on her wrist.
“Not even gonna say hi, Len?” I drawl. “You fuck off to Paris and now you’re too good for your big brother?”
She was blank before, but the glare she hits me with is all fire. All passion. But is it passionate hatred or something else? We’ve always walked that line.
“I’ve been busy.”
Her tone is flat, a direct contrast to the emotion in her hazel eyes, and I want to draw it out of her. My lips curve into a cruel smirk.Busy.
“Is that what you call bouncing on French dick in the City of Light?”
Instead of getting pissed or telling me to fuck off, she matches my smirk with one of her own and tilts her head to the side. My skin prickles.
“Why are you so concerned with whose dick I’m bouncing on, Macon?”
Her voice is sugar sweet, the kind that rots your teeth and turns your stomach. I fist my hands, fighting the urge to grab her and kiss the attitude right out of her smart-ass mouth. I shake my head slowly.
