Page 88 of Yours To Hold
“And I’m guessing she didn’t know?” Nash asks.
“It’s not like it was any of her business,” I bite out. I hate being the topic of conversation. Especially over something that is still so raw.
Because that’s exactly what this feels like. It’s raw. Like a big, festering, open wound that won’t close. One minute I’ll feel okay. And the next I’ll feel bad for feeling okay.
Because we were temporary, right? Ivy clearly didn’t see me as anything worth sticking around for, so why should I stress?
“Soooo, you don’t want to talk about it?” Nash asks. Peter leans over, whispering in his ear. “We’re going to go check on dinner.”
“Real subtle, guys.”
“Be thankful they’re not asking you questions.” Layla elbows me in the side.
I know how much she hated being on the receiving end of all the attention after her divorce. I hate it even more than she does.
I like my privacy. As much as I love my family, it can be overbearing at times.
I don’t want to sit and rehash everything that went wrong.
“You’re not going to ask me any questions?” I sip on my beer.
Layla shakes her head. “Nope. Because I hated it, so I’m not going to make you suffer.”
“I knew you were my favorite.”
“I thought I was your favorite!” Willow bounces up to me, running into the house before Gramps.
“Of course you’re my favorite, Pipsqueak. You’ll always be my favorite.”
Willow leaps into my arms. “You’re my favorite too, Daddy.” She drops a kiss on my cheek and wiggles out of my hold. “I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?”
“Right now!” Gemma comes out of the kitchen, looking a bit friendly. “Want to sit next to me, Willow?”
She nods and follows her over to the table. Better her sitting next to Gemma than me.
Now that I’m here, the anger is starting to come in.
I don’t know what happened. That’s the worst part. Ivy left with a quick text that her job started sooner than she anticipated and that was it. She wouldn’t answer any of my calls or texts.
Who does that?
“How’s work going?” Nash asks Layla.
“It looks like I’m not going to get the bigger space across the street.”
“Why not?” Nash passes the bowl of green pepper steak to me.
“Because of Brad.”
“Who’s that?” Blake asks.
“I’ll tell you later,” Gemma whispers.
“Someone who lives to make my life a living hell.” Layla stabs a pepper onto her fork and shoves it into her mouth.
“How was camp, Willow?” Gemma asks her, changing the subject.
She goes off onto another tangent about camp.
