change the subject, considering his reaction.
He continues clearing off the rest of her bed covers and doesn't answer me.
So I stand there, not sure what to do. When a few minutes go by, I decide to search for the door to the basement myself. The closed door at the end of the long hallway looks like it could lead to the basement, but when I go to check, it's locked.
As soon as I return to Charity's room, not one of my feet has even entered the doorway, Mick growls, "The basement isn't a finished one. It's just the laundry room, but feel free to check it if you think it'll make those people happy."
Okay. He's back to being Mick. Cautiously, I ask about the locked door and if it was the door to the basement.
His back straightens and his fists clench before he turns around. "That's not the basement door," he snarls.
"Oh." I back up, an action I hadn't been aware I was doing until I'd hit the wall across the way.
Dropping his shoulders, but not unclenching his fists, he opens and closes his mouth, then, "Are they going to ask about that room?"
Still backed up against the wall, I lift a shoulder. "I mean I would think so and all. For... all they know, a... dead body could be in..." As soon as the words slip from my mouth, I'm fully aware they shouldn't have been said.
There's a new level of intensity in his eyes. Could there be a dead body in there?
"Um. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." I falter. What does one say when they think there really could be a dead body in a locked room down the hall?
"I have some phone calls to make," he states.
"Oh...kay."
"Right. So... I'll see you... tomorrow or something."
"Oh." Did he forget he drove me here?
"Thanks," he says, and walks to the front door and opens it.
"Um. I... uh, I just... need to... my purse." He has me so flustered right now that my words are getting caught in my throat. But I grab my purse off the back of the kitchen chair and slip it across my chest. Walking out his front door, I turn one last time, just to be sure he's not joking, but he's already slammed the door.
Okay. I guess he wasn't joking.
The urge to bang on his door and demand he drive me home wriggles at me, but my gut tells me to leave it alone.
Thank goodness for the GPS on my phone, otherwise I'd never get out of these winding suburban roads. I type in the address for Donny's and start the 6.2 mile walk back to my car.
25
MICK
Suppressed secrets have a way of taking root, planting themselves firmly and intricately within the foundation of who we are, then sprouting at the most unseasonable time.
Maybe she should have minded her own business, then I wouldn't have kicked her out.
The doorbell rings, and I think I am not in the mood to explain. Not now. But I answer it anyway. It's not Holly. It's Lara.
"What?"
"Mick." She grabs me by the arm and hugs me, gripping really hard. "Oh my God. Luke told me. I am so sorry."
Pushing her away, I let her in and shut the door.
"How ya gonna get her back?"
"I don't know," I say, not in the mood to talk to her either.
But she ignores my obvious irritation and hugs me anyway.
And again, I push her away. "Not now, Lara."
"They can't keep her, can they?" she asks, undeterred.
"I don't know," I growl out at her.
"Damn," she utters to herself, then sits down on my couch. As if I invited her to stay. "Was that girl the social worker?"
"What girl?"
"The reddish-haired one. There was a girl walking down your walk before I came in."
"Holly," I say out loud to myself. That's when it occurs to me. I drove her here. She has no ride home. "Lara," I blurt, "you gotta go. I gotta..." I trail off, grabbing my keys and pushing Lara out the door.
"Wait. Who's Holly?"
"Not now, Lara."
"Are you seeing her?" she asks angrily, as if I have no right to see anyone after she fucking cheated on me.
"Later, Lara." I ignore her outrageous question and hop on my bike, securing the second helmet behind me.
"But Mick..."
I rev the engine for
He continues clearing off the rest of her bed covers and doesn't answer me.
So I stand there, not sure what to do. When a few minutes go by, I decide to search for the door to the basement myself. The closed door at the end of the long hallway looks like it could lead to the basement, but when I go to check, it's locked.
As soon as I return to Charity's room, not one of my feet has even entered the doorway, Mick growls, "The basement isn't a finished one. It's just the laundry room, but feel free to check it if you think it'll make those people happy."
Okay. He's back to being Mick. Cautiously, I ask about the locked door and if it was the door to the basement.
His back straightens and his fists clench before he turns around. "That's not the basement door," he snarls.
"Oh." I back up, an action I hadn't been aware I was doing until I'd hit the wall across the way.
Dropping his shoulders, but not unclenching his fists, he opens and closes his mouth, then, "Are they going to ask about that room?"
Still backed up against the wall, I lift a shoulder. "I mean I would think so and all. For... all they know, a... dead body could be in..." As soon as the words slip from my mouth, I'm fully aware they shouldn't have been said.
There's a new level of intensity in his eyes. Could there be a dead body in there?
"Um. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." I falter. What does one say when they think there really could be a dead body in a locked room down the hall?
"I have some phone calls to make," he states.
"Oh...kay."
"Right. So... I'll see you... tomorrow or something."
"Oh." Did he forget he drove me here?
"Thanks," he says, and walks to the front door and opens it.
"Um. I... uh, I just... need to... my purse." He has me so flustered right now that my words are getting caught in my throat. But I grab my purse off the back of the kitchen chair and slip it across my chest. Walking out his front door, I turn one last time, just to be sure he's not joking, but he's already slammed the door.
Okay. I guess he wasn't joking.
The urge to bang on his door and demand he drive me home wriggles at me, but my gut tells me to leave it alone.
Thank goodness for the GPS on my phone, otherwise I'd never get out of these winding suburban roads. I type in the address for Donny's and start the 6.2 mile walk back to my car.
25
MICK
Suppressed secrets have a way of taking root, planting themselves firmly and intricately within the foundation of who we are, then sprouting at the most unseasonable time.
Maybe she should have minded her own business, then I wouldn't have kicked her out.
The doorbell rings, and I think I am not in the mood to explain. Not now. But I answer it anyway. It's not Holly. It's Lara.
"What?"
"Mick." She grabs me by the arm and hugs me, gripping really hard. "Oh my God. Luke told me. I am so sorry."
Pushing her away, I let her in and shut the door.
"How ya gonna get her back?"
"I don't know," I say, not in the mood to talk to her either.
But she ignores my obvious irritation and hugs me anyway.
And again, I push her away. "Not now, Lara."
"They can't keep her, can they?" she asks, undeterred.
"I don't know," I growl out at her.
"Damn," she utters to herself, then sits down on my couch. As if I invited her to stay. "Was that girl the social worker?"
"What girl?"
"The reddish-haired one. There was a girl walking down your walk before I came in."
"Holly," I say out loud to myself. That's when it occurs to me. I drove her here. She has no ride home. "Lara," I blurt, "you gotta go. I gotta..." I trail off, grabbing my keys and pushing Lara out the door.
"Wait. Who's Holly?"
"Not now, Lara."
"Are you seeing her?" she asks angrily, as if I have no right to see anyone after she fucking cheated on me.
"Later, Lara." I ignore her outrageous question and hop on my bike, securing the second helmet behind me.
"But Mick..."
I rev the engine for
Similar Books
