Page 83 of Bottles & Blades
“You call back and I’ll hang up,” I say.
“I—”
“You do it again and I’ll hang up again,” I tell her. “And I can do it all fucking night because what Ican’tdo is let someone treat Tiff like shit. Get yourself a fucking bowl of cereal or hell, eat that shit dry, but don’t call back unless it’s for a real reason.”
“I want to talk to my daughter.” She speaking more quietly this time.
Small fucking victories.
“I’ll have her call you when she wakes up.”
There’s a long moment of quiet.
Then, thank fuck, she says, “Okay.”
“Great.” I hang up.
Drop Tiff’s phone onto the bathroom counter and grip the honed edge of the granite, hanging my head and breathing deep and slow until I no longer want to punch something.
Then I flick off the light, grab her phone, and quietly make my way back into the bedroom.
Phone on the nightstand.
Body in bed.
I exhale silently, close my eyes, and then?—
Tiff is climbing on top of me.
“Wh—?”
I don’t get to finish the question.
Because then her mouth is on mine.
Twenty-Five
Tiff
I heardhim in the bathroom.
I didn’t mean to, and certainly I didn’t realize who exactly he was talking to.
Not until he told my mom to have a fucking bowl of cereal.
Then…
The pieces had aligned.
And…
Christ, it’s only been a few days and I’m falling deep, falling hard.
I’m not a piece of steel.
I’m not impermeable.
And how can I resist this man?
