Page 48 of Play With Me
“I slept with him the night before we met at the police headquarters.” I cross my arms over my chest, putting even those few inches between us, knowing that my admission will make him lose his shit.
His entire face goes red, nostrils flaring as his body shakes with anger while he glares down at me. “You two know each other? So you made me look like a complete jackass? How the fuck do you know him, Carmela?”
“We met the night before, randomly, at a restaurant. We clicked. He seemed like a good time. I was horny.” I shrug. “I’m not your mistress, Mick. I’ll fuck who I want, when I want.”
“He’s fired,” he shoots back.
“The hell he is,” I snarl.
“I’ll put him on a fucking plane back to California tonight!”
“Stop! You have to stop trying to control me! You made your choice! Let me live my life!”
“I’ll be damned if you think you’re going to play house in the homeIpaid for! Withmydaughter!” Mick jams his finger into his chest as he quivers with rage.
Launching forward, I cover his mouth and make a shushing sound. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want Maya to hear?”
He pulls my hands away from his face, squeezing them in his. “Maybe it’s time she knows the truth.”
“No, Mick.” I’m proud of myself for how strong I sound even though my heart is thumping so hard in my chest, I’m afraid it will crack a rib. “No. You gave up parental rights when you decided not to be named on her birth certificate. You promised me you would never pull this shit on me. Don’t start now. She doesn’t even—” I cut myself off, biting my tongue as his eyes darken.
“Say it. She doesn’t what, Mellie?” His body is rigid, and his hands grow clammy around mine as he refuses to let go.
Shaking my head, I shrug. “She doesn’t even like you, Mick. I’m not saying it to hurt your feelings. But these are the consequences of the choicesyoumade.”
“I haven’t exactly gotten any time to get to know her,” he defends quietly.
He looks defeated—tired. And for the first time in a long time, I reallylookat him. His eyes are sunken in, dark circles surrounding the hollows. More silver than I remember streaks through his hair and beard, leaving them nearly salt and pepper colored. Time is beginning to manifest in his appearance. Gone is the man I once loved. In his place stands one I don’t recognize.
“You’ve had fourteen years, Mick.” I rotate my hands in his and squeeze them. “Fourteen years to make this work. But what works for you justisn’tworking for me anymore. It never did.” I hate how my voice cracks. I’ve given him so much of me, time and time again. But this time, I don’t want to leave any room for misunderstanding.
He lets go of me with a sniff. “You need me, Mellie.”
My lips thin out, and pity is apparent in my expression as I shake my head. “I don’t, though. I don’t need you. I don’t needanyman.” Stepping back, I turn and head toward the door. “But Iwanthim. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I promised my daughter pancakes.”
Anders
Maya is grumbling to herself when I step into the kitchen.
It’s not that I don’t like kids, but as an only child with no siblings to give me nieces and nephews, I haven’t spent much time around them. But, for whatever reason, Carmela’s mini-me amuses me with her quick ease toward me and the slew of names she’s calling Mick under her breath.
“I take it you’re not a big fan of the senator?” I step up to her side as she vigorously stirs a bowl of pancake mix. It’s too watery and sloshes over the side onto the marble countertop, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to beat it into submission. There’s a smear of dry mix on her cheek she pays no mind to, and I have to bite my lip to prevent a laugh from escaping.
“I hate that guy,” she spits the words out like they leave a nasty taste in her mouth.
“Oh, yeah? Why is that?” I casually slide the box of mix toward her. She stops power whisking and stares at it for a second before roughly grabbing it and dumping a pile of powder into the bowl.
Now there’s too much mix and not enough water.
She starts whisking again. “Because every time he shows up here, he makes Mom sad. She’s lonely. She spends enough time being sad. So, it just makes me mad that he thinks he can storm in here and make her feel worse ‘cause he’s her boss.”
It’s pretty insightful for a fourteen-year-old, but something tells me Carmela and Maya are close. Hearing Maya talk about her mom being lonely tugs at my heartstrings a little, and I wonder if she realizes her mom pushes people away in order to keep her safe.
“And he’s just sosmug. Like, who does he think he is going upstairs into her room? Did he think I wouldn’t notice? It’s creepy. He’s old. My mom is too hot for him.” Maya gives up and sighs, pushing the bowl away from her.
I grab it and scoop the sludge into the garbage can at the end of the island before going to the farmhouse-style sink, grabbing the mix on the way. She watches as I measure out the appropriate amounts, then hand her the bowl. “There you go. Try that.” I take my place beside her again, directing her to mix abit slower and stopping her when it’s the right consistency. “The trick is not to overmix it. Now, we let it sit while we warm up the griddle.”
While she grabs the utensils and sets the pan on the stove, I ask her, “He kinda is a smug asshole, isn’t he?”