Page 24 of Lethal Weakness

“Mommy, I done.”

“You didn’t eat very much, sweetie.”

“I wanna play.”

“Eat your bread first.”

Her bottom lip starts to quiver. Oh no. The last thing I want to deal with is a meltdown at the dinner table.

Not because I can’t handle it, but because I don’t think she should have to experience big feelings in front of a man she doesn’t know, and Jack.

“Can I have your bread?” Jack asks her quietly, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

“No, it’s mine.” Her charm bracelets jingle as she clutches her bread to her chest.

“But you’re not eating it.” He pretends to grab for it.

“I will.”

“You will? I don’t believe you.”

Her eyes narrow, and she lifts her half piece of bread to take a giant bite out of the middle. “See,” she says with a mouthful.

“You’re right. You win.”

She smiles proudly, none the wiser from the trick he played.

I smile proudly because any bit of calories she gets in her belly thrills me.

“She’s going to be trouble.” Mr. Chaney’s foot finds mine under the table, giving it a nudge, but it lingers, resting against mine. “Especially when she’s a teenager.”

I hate that sentiment, and I don’t like him forming any type of opinion of my daughter. I snatch my foot back as I stand from my seat.

“Got any dessert?” He leans back in his chair, patting his stomach, but looking at me like I’m the treat he’s requesting.

“Dinner is over,” Jack states gruffly.

Mr. Chaney looks at me and to Jack, not taking the hint. I don’t know what gives me the nerve to do it- maybe my need to get this man out of my house, or just the misplaced anger turning into desperation, but I step behind Jack’s chair, trepidly sliding my hand across his broad shoulder.

“No dessert, Mr. Chaney.” I leave my palm resting near the base of Jack’s neck, so he gets the hint that only he is welcome to stay.

Mr. Chaney looks at where my hand lies for so long that I can feel Jack’s pulse thrumming against my thumb.

“Right, well, thanks for having me.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Jack stands so fast, I have to snatch my hand back as if I burned it.

My cheeks heat in embarrassment. Why did I think it was okay to touch him?

I’m so damaged from my years with Turner, I don’t even remember how to behave properly in social settings. Isolation stunted me.

Jack’s gone so long, I assume he went straight home without saying goodbye. He probably did not like that I just used him like a prop. He’s been gracious enough to get me out of a couple of binds, and I couldn’t even give him a peaceful meal.

Maybe I should pack up some leftovers to take to him…

I glance out the window to see if he’s in his driveway, but immediately snap the curtains shut.

He didn’t go home… He has the back of Mr. Chaney’s neck in one hand, and his right hand in the other, holding him against the hood of his car.