Rose’s POV
"Aren’t you hot in that sweater, dear?"
"No, Mum. I’m just fine."
"You sure? Let me just—"
I swiftly dodged her hand and sat down at the dining table.
"I told you, Mum. I’m fine. It’s not hot at all."
She studied me for a second with a confused look before finally giving up with a sigh and walking away.
"That was close," I muttered to myself.
"Morning, Rose."
I jumped in my seat as the deep voice startled me. I turned to the source of the voice to find Devon yawning with a glass of whiskey already in his hand.
Must be a family trait or something.
How many times have I seen Reagan drink now?
Oh no...
Devon stopped beside me, studying me for a brief second before he spoke.
"Your face is red. You’re asking to be boiled alive with that many clothes on."
Maybe if your son hadn’t turned my neck into his personal art project, I wouldn’t need three layers of clothing.
I kept my head down, stabbing at the food with my fork.
Every time Mum looked my way, I had to fight the urge to tug the scarf higher.
It felt like everyone was staring.
Like the marks beneath it were somehow visible through the fabric.
I’d never been good at lying.
If she asked one more question, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to answer without my face giving everything away.
"I’m fine, thanks."
He grunted in approval and was about to bring the glass to his lips when my mum grabbed it from his hands, leaving his head tilted upward and his hands hanging empty.
"I told you, no drinks in the morning."
"I need that to kick-start my day."
"You said that just before you quit smoking, but you look fine to me."
"I look—"
My mum eyed him, making him grunt.
"If you want something to kick-start your day, then go take an energy drink from the fridge. Your morning breath is bad enough. I don’t need it smelling of alcohol."
"I did this to myself," he sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Excuse you?"
He took long strides toward the kitchen, avoiding my mum’s wrath. Just before he disappeared around the corner, I saw a faint smile graze his lips, and it made me smile too.
It was funny seeing them bicker like this.
I hadn’t seen my mum this free, playful, or energetic... the way she was with Devon.
From the kitchen came the sound of Devon complaining, followed by Mum telling him to stop acting like a child.
A second later, she laughed.
I sat quietly, listening.
It had been a long time since laughter had filled this house.
With my father, it was always so... so cold.
The thought of my father soured my mood. I thought I’d forgiven her. I thought I was okay with her moving on. I guess it wasn’t that simple.
"Are you okay, honey? Your mood’s sunken. Feeling alright?"
I tilted my head up to look at her.
"You said Devon quit smoking. Was it for you?"
At my question, she smiled.
"One might say that."
She didn’t give a yes-or-no answer, but that was all I needed.
I’d never seen Devon smoke or even smelled it on him, so it must’ve happened before... before my dad’s death.
I hoped it wasn’t so.
My curiosity was itching to be satisfied, and I was about to ask her another question when Devon walked in with an energy drink.
"Doesn’t work the same."
"Stop being a big baby and come sit."
What had brought a faint smile to my lips just moments ago now felt like lime being squirted into my eyes.
"Have you been able to reach Reagan?"
At the mention of his name, my heart seemed to skip a beat as my fork clattered against the plate, making them both turn to me.
I quickly muttered an apology and shoved down the food one big bite after another.
"No, but I will. No need to worry."
"Worry?" my mum laughed.
"The only thing we have to be worried about is him bringing back kids, and even that isn’t a cause for worry."
She laughed excitedly.
"You really believe that date excuse?" Devon asked with a sigh.
"Of course. Why else would a young man leave so late at night? Ooh, I can’t wait to meet her."
My fork clattered down again, but this time I offered no apology.
My stomach twisted.
No...
Maybe she’s mistaken.
Last night he’d been with—
"What did you just say?" I asked, my lips trembling.
"Reagan went on a date last night," my mum repeated cheerfully.
"You should’ve seen how much of a hurry he was in. So cute."
Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I sprinted toward my room. I could still hear Mum calling after me.
"Where are you off to? You haven’t finished your breakfast!"
I didn’t stop.
I kept running, cursing him in every language known to man.
You go on a date the same night you kiss me. I’m wearing extra layers of clothes and this dumb scarf to hide the marks you left, and you go on a fucking date.
You fucking piece of shit.
The image of him kissing me flashed through my mind again.
His hand around my waist.
The way he’d looked at me. The way he’d kissed me like he wanted to take everything I had to give.
Was all of that just another game to him?
Had he left me... and gone straight to someone else?
The thought hurt far more than I wanted to admit.
I slammed the door behind me, making sure to lock it before breaking down in sobs.
I threw the scarf to the floor and stomped on it, cursing him with every step.
"I’m so stupid," I whispered as I cried into my pillow, trying to muffle my sobs.
Why am I crying? Why does it hurt so much? Why do I care if he goes on a date?
"I hate you, Reagan."