Page 61 of That Girl is Trouble

And now I’ve had too much time to think. Last night, I was the epitome of the Kat who lives for the thrill, who thrives on excitement and danger and risk. And now I’ve got to drop forty bucks on this damn pill so I can make sure that little thrill I was chasing doesn’t turn into a living, breathing human child. Getting knocked up by Axel Donovan is the last thing I need.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I pull it out, Overbearing Asshole flashes across the screen. I hesitate. Probably shouldn’t answer given where I am and what I’m doing. Except… of course he won’t know where I am or what I’m doing.

I hit the green button and sigh into my phone. “Hey, asshole.”

Graves chuckles on the other end of the line. “Hey, little sister.”

“I hate when you call me that,” I say, but the sound of his voice makes me smile, and I’m suddenly feeling that poke of guilt in my stomach again. You’re lying to him. To Triss. You suck.

“I think you love it.”

Jade throws me a curious look and then, in a low, teasing whisper, she asks, “That your baby daddy?”

I mouth out a big fuck you, shoving a few twenties into her hand and motioning to the counter, where the pharmacist is speaking in a hushed tone to another customer. Jade smirks and then takes my money as I dip into the closest aisle.

“What can I do for you, Grave Man?” I ask as I wander past the cold and flu remedies to an assortment of snacks on an endcap.

Chocolate-covered cherries. Maybe I should buy a box for my favourite biker since he loves the taste of my lip gloss so damn much—

No. Not my biker. Axe Donovan doesn’t belong to anyone.

“Thought we’d come visit this weekend.”

I stop dead, bumping into the display and knocking several bags of chocolate-covered almonds to the floor. Dropping to my knees, I throw the kid working at the nearest register an apologetic smile and work to clean up my mess.

“Here? Really?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

“Yeah. That a problem?”

“N-no,” I stutter. “No, of course not. It’s just… it’s a little last minute.” And there’s also the teeny, tiny problem of me not being where they think I am.

“Look, kid,” Graves says, his voice dropping an octave. It’s his serious voice, the one he puts on when he’s about to parent me, and god, I wish he wouldn’t. “It’s been a minute since we’ve seen you—”

“I know, but—”

“Kat. I know you’ve been through some shit. What went down with Jess was rough. But we’re your family. You can’t shut us out forever. I can count the number of times you’ve been home in the last year on one damn hand. That ain’t family.”

“Graves—”

“It’s killing your sister, Kat. Not having you around is killing her. We get it. You’re doing your thing. But the woman’s been reorganizing every damn cupboard and closet in the house, and she came home with a stack of fuckin’ paint swatches the other night.”

I stifle a laugh at that. It’s always been Triss’s thing. When she’s stressed or pissed or sad, she can’t sit still. She’ll tear apart every room in the house, moving things around because they just don’t feel like they’re in the right spot. And when it gets really bad, she paints the walls.

“Tell her to start on the front door. The red she picked last time is hideous.”

Graves sighs, the sound laced with that I’m not your dad, but I’m the closest thing to it, so you have to listen to me energy. “I’m serious. She’s driving me crazy. She thinks you don’t want to be here.”

More guilt twists in my gut. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing, Jack. Okay?” I say, using his given name so he knows I’m not fucking around. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just… like you said. Figuring out my shit. You—you can’t come here, okay? I’ve got a paper to write and—”

“You in some kind of trouble?”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Kat.”

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