Page 105 of DadBod

“In my office.”

“No.” I stand my ground because I think I’d prefer to have friends nearby. Monica isn’t on that list. “Say what you need to say right here.” Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.

“Fine.” He moves three steps closer. He’s still several feet away. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me your brother is in prison?”

Oh. Wow. How did he––? “I––”

“You care for my children, and you’ve got a brother in prison.” He pauses, leans in closer, but still speaks loudly. “For murder.”

“It wasn’t––”

“You’ve been practically living in my home. Watching the two people I love the most in this world. And you didn’t think to tell me about your past? Where you come from? The kind of family you have?”

The look of disgust on his face hurts me to the core. It also saddens me, because if he knew my family, he wouldn’t have said all those things. And now, he never will. Instead, every word out of his mouth was a low blow. There’s nothing wrong with my family, and the thing with my brother is none of––

“Get out.” Rome points to the door. “You’re fired.”

“Fired?”

“Fired,” he yells loudly; even Antony jumps.

“Rome––” He doesn’t have any right to fire me. I’m not the one that went to prison. Besides, if he knew the whole story, he’d never react like this.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

I feel the burn of tears hit my cheeks. There’s no reason to try to talk reason to the man; he’s made up his mind. Spinning on my heel, I’m about to run out the door when I see them. Calvin and Ryann. Shit. Calvin’s crying and Ryann is well, scowling. No doubt she’s angry with me too.

My purse is in the backroom, but I can’t go back there now. To get it, I’d have to walk past Rome. But I can’t very well make it home without it. Pushing my shoulders back, I wipe off my cheeks and march back the way I came.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Getting my purse, asshole.” I quickly glance at Calvin and regret saying it. “I mean, jerk.”

Jogging into the back room, I know Jeriann’s behind me. “I didn’t say a fucking word.”

“I know.”

“It had to have been Monica.”

“Yeah.” The evil smirk on her face a minute ago told me that. “She must’ve heard us talk about him.” We’ve chatted about my brother at work at times. “She could’ve easily overheard.”

“That cunt.”

I don’t bother stopping her from saying the word, even though I hate it, because I tend to agree this time. “Bye.” I pat her arm and literally run out of the kitchen, past the kids, through the restaurant and out the door. That’s when I let the tears flow freely.

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