Cocky Notes - Leesa Bow

Prologue

MACY

Nine Years Ago

“Sweetheart, I know it’s going to be tough, and it’s a shock to us all, but I don’t want you to stress about money. I’ll sort something out. We’re going to be fine,” my father says to my mother the day he arrives home from the hospital.

“For God’s sake, Peter. Stop living in your goddamn happy-land where you believe everything is going to be okay. It’s not. You’re going to need extensive rehab, physical therapy and follow-up doctor visits and that’s if nothing else goes wrong.” She curls back into her lounge chair and covers her face with her hands. I want to step out from the corner doorway and say something in support for Dad, only I know better than to interrupt when Mum has an opinion. I’m not ready for her wrath to be switched to me.

“Nothing else will go wrong,” he says, as he struggles to adjust his position in his reclining chair but grimaces with the slightest movement.

I suck in a sharp breath, knowing he’s in pain and doing his best to keep a brave face.

“You’re a bloody fool,” she snaps. “You could get an infection in your wound, not to mention any number of other things that could go wrong. You’re carrying unhealthy weight around your fat gut, and knowing my luck, you’ll have a stroke, and I’ll have to look after you more so than I’m required to now.”

“No one expects you to be my caregiver,” he rasps.

My throat burns seeing the hurt in his expression.

“I certainly am no one’s caregiver. For years, I’ve suffered while you’ve been on the road for sometimes weeks at a time—alone and trying to run this house, pay bills with the pathetic wage you bring home. And Macy. She’s a dreamer and needs an uncle or someone to look out for her because you’re not a good influence.”

I take a reactive step forward and freeze when Dad’s gaze meets mine. His cheeks blush, and he gives a gentle shake of his head warning me not to let her see me because, by the sound of her tone, she’s firing up to full-on rage.

“Macy is doing fine,” he replies. “Her grades are good. She’s happy, which is a plus because many kids her age are on social drugs. So, I don’t think I’m too bad of an influence.”

She laughs at him. “Maybe if you encouraged her to get out of the house more often, she wouldn’t be the size she is.”

My chest burns, an imaginary knife twisting deeper.

“Enough,” Dad yells. “I won’t have you talking about her in that tone.”

“You want me to whisper, so she doesn’t hear?”

“Sylvia, stop,” Dad says between clenched teeth.

The momentary silence fools us both.

“I’ll tell you when I’ll stop,” she yells. “When I’m free of you both. You think you’re suffering because you have one leg? Well, my wings were clipped the day I met you. I’m a beautiful bird stuck in a cage having to sing and dance on a perch to entertain you. I can’t take it anymore. I see today as an opportunity when the cage door unlatches, and I’m flying out to be free.” She stands and leans over him, a finger jabbing toward him as she screams in his face. “You thought I was the beautiful girlfriend on your arm when we went out to parties. An accessory like an expensive handbag. You can’t afford Louis Vuitton.” Dad’s eyes round, and I’m scared because she’s hysterical. “I’m not meant to be with someone like you. I deserve better.”

“Sylvia…” Dad’s voice cracks. “It’s been a stressful week. Let’s sleep on it.”

“If you think I’m getting in bed with you, then you’re mistaken. I’m calling a friend. I’ll be back tomorrow for the rest of my belongings.”

I step forward so she can see me. “Dad doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. He’s been through enough.”

Dad shakes his head. “Macy—”

“No, Dad. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You little snake.” She glares at me before pushing past, her heels clicking on the wooden floor of the hallway. I slide on to the lounge chair next to Dad, hug him, and lean my head on his shoulder.

“You’re braver than me, my girl.” Dad pats my back.

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“I can’t make her stay if she doesn’t want to.”

I curl into his shoulder and sob. “I’m sorry…” I sniff. “I’m sorry she doesn’t like me.”

Dad repeats my name softly. “She loves us both. She’s going through a tough patch at the moment. It’s

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