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They’ll behave… They’re at home anyway.
Rocco
Like you can control four dickish rock stars…
ME
Stfu…and bring me soup.
Rocco
So demanding and bossy…
I groan, forcing myself into the seated position. A rock band plays off-tune inside my head, pounding repeatedly. Peeking an eye open, I stare at the tall glass of water and the note sitting next to it.
River Blue–
I went home to eat. Drink the water. I’ll be back soon. Don’t fucking move.
Knight.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, rereading the note. Just a few days ago, he was being an unbearable ass. Now he’s leaving me a concerned message demanding I drink water. What in the ever-loving fuck is happening right now? Shit.
I met Lyric.His words ring through my head. That’s right. In my haze of sickness, he met his daughter. Shitballs. No wonder he’s trying to butter me up. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I head into the bathroom and wash the sickness from my body under a steaming hot shower. By the time I’m out and dressed in my comfy leggings and oversized shirt, I meet Rocco at the front door and lead him into the kitchen where he bustles around like a concerned mother.
“There’s my sickly Doll,” he greets me with a smile, kissing my forehead. “Christian sends his regards but refuses to step foot in here while you’re contagious.”
I frown. “I don’t have the damn plague. Your husband is ridiculous.”
He shrugs, waving his hand. “You know him. He’ll give you all the soup you want, but don’t you dare invite him to the germs.”
“Well, thanks for the soup,” I say, making grabby hands at the container he’s holding.
Flicking my forehead, he takes the precious container away with a villainous cackle.Prick.Marching into the kitchen, he riffles through my cabinets until he finds a large bowl and pours it in.
“Sit,” he demands, waving at the stool by the marble-topped island.
“I’m not a dog, you asshole,” I grunt, sitting in the chair with a huff. Rocco, ever the smartass, opens his lips to retort, but I stare at him, forcing his mouth shut.
“Fine. I want to make sure my bestie is feeling loads better. Now, eat the soup and spill the tea,” he says with a grin, setting the large, steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of my face.
Taking in a large breath, I catalog the delicious scents wafting from the bowl and test how far I can push my stomach. It gurgles as I slurp the first spoonful of broth, protesting until the heat hits. I haven’t gotten sick since Kieran held my hair back and embarrassingly watched me puke my soul out.
God. What a fucking day. I’d been over the toilet for what felt like twenty-four hours, puking out the sushi from the night before. Every damn minute, I heaved until I had nothing left. Eventually, I fell asleep with my cheek plastered against the toilet seat. Only waking when Kieran gently nudged me and talked me out of my sick-induced slumber. My cheeks heat at the memory. The last thing I ever wanted was for one of them to see me in such a vulnerable position ever again.
Then I learned sweet Lyric thought I was fucking dead and introduced herself to Kieran, blabbering about my sickly status. Granted, I didn’t tell her I was keeled over by the toilet. She just happened to find me, and I wouldn’t wake up.
By the way Kieran talked, he had no fucking clue she was his. Or that she existed at all. Heartbreak rested behind his eyes, and my fucking heart tore in two. It was at that moment I knew that, for some reason, Gloria had lied to me about everything when I made my way to Callum’s house. I don’t understand why she would. Wouldn’t she want her potential granddaughter in her life? Not that I’d want her to be, anyway. She was—and probably still is—a big fucking bitch.
“They’ll leave you one day, Central Slut,” she leans in, whispering into my ear with a tone of pure evil. “I won’t let you drag them down into the depths of poverty. They’re better than you and better than this town. One day they’ll be fucking stars, and you’ll be here. Where you belong.”My jaw ticks from the back of the crowd, gathered to watch as Whispered Words plays for the entire cookout, they drug me to. Not only have I had to deal with my stupid, stalker ex, but now I must deal with Gloria sputtering abuse in my ear.
I catch Asher’s eye as he watches us closely, no doubt wanting to know what she said. Too bad I never gave him the satisfaction of knowing what she had to say.
I guess that evil cunt kept her promise, after all. My stomach turns again. Not from the food this time. It’s her words playing on repeat like a damn nightmare. I never honestly thought she’d be so damn vindictive enough to pull something so cruel. Apparently, I was wrong.
My fucking head hurts thinking about my current predicament. Constantly warring with my damn self on the rights and wrongs of the situation. I’m still deeply hurt, and that won’t change. More than deeply, I’m fucking shattered with deep crevices splitting further inside me the more I’m around them, held together by fucking super glue for the past five years. At the slightest inconvenience, I’ll completely crumble. Fuck. I’m ready to move on and heal from my trauma. But I know I won’t. Not until I’ve hashed it out with them—really hash it out. It might be through strong words. I’ll have to step out of my boss shoes and into the hurt River shoes and get to the nitty-gritty of what went wrong and why they left.
I take a tentative bite, groaning as the mild flavors hit my desperate tongue. “Tell Christian never to stop cooking,” I hum, slowly slurping the broth.
