Holding his Hostage - Amy Gamet Page 0,12
thank you.”
“That’s all you can think about? The money?”
“Easy for you to say.”
“What does that mean?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”
“Because my family’s poor. Right? Is that it? My family’s poor, so I don’t get to tell your family what to do with their money.” She got up, picking her clothes up off the floor and hastily getting dressed.
“Okay, yes. We come from very different backgrounds.”
She blew out air and wrestled with her sneaker. “Oh, just say it. I’m not good enough for you, and I never was. Trailer trash. You were never going to marry Old Man Buckley’s daughter.”
“Stop getting dressed. Let’s talk about this.”
“What is there to talk about? I just got a real good look into your heart, and I don’t like what I see.”
“You know I love you.”
“Do you?” She pulled her sweatshirt over her head. “Do you love me enough to marry me and take me away from this place?”
He said nothing, only stared at her from across the room. She moved to the door. “Don’t call me. Don’t come to the diner and see me. In two weeks, you’ll be gone and finally free of me.”
She wanted him to argue with her, to insist he was wrong and whisper apologies into her hair. Instead, he said, “We could use the time to think about what we really want.”
She could still feel the devastation his words wrought inside her. Her world had been shattered that night, leaving her surrounded by shards with no way to fix it. A tear slipped down her cheek. A draft crept around the old window, and she hugged herself against the cold. Some things never changed, and she was grateful this house, at least, was one of them.
7
“Don’t finish all the Cap’n Crunch!”
“I got it first.”
“That’s not fair.”
“First come, first serve. It’s perfectly fair.”
Sloan’s eyes popped open, confusion permeating the thick haze of sleep. He stared at his living room ceiling. He was on the couch, and there were children in his kitchen.
Joanne’s children.
He sat up slowly, looking around. A pair of sneakers sat in the middle of the floor, one upside down. He scratched the back of his head and sighed, reaching for his prosthetic arm and securing it in place. His head ached a little from the scotch, and he longed for a cup of coffee to take the edge off the pain.
More screaming from the kitchen. “Give that back!”
“You finished the Cap’n Crunch, so I’m taking the Lucky Charms.” That was the girl… April. He got up and stretched.
“Mom!” yelled the boy.
“Just shut up and eat the Cheerios.”
“I hate Cheerios! And don’t tell me to shut up!”
Sloan had slept in his jeans, but he pulled on his T-shirt in an attempt to appear presentable as he dove into the fray in the kitchen. “Everyone hates Cheerios. I’d go for the Cap’n Crunch.”
The boy didn’t miss a beat. Lucas. “She touched it. I don’t want it after she touched it.”
April gestured dramatically. “I poured it from the box into the bowl.”
Lucas straightened his arms by his sides, fingers balled into fists. “I’m not eating that crap!”
Sloan held up a hand. “Watch your mouth.” He reached into the top of the pantry and dug behind boxes of macaroni and cheese, withdrawing a second box of Lucky Charms. “Here. I’m always prepared.”
A single clap behind Sloan made him turn around. Little Fiona stood in the doorway, beaming. “Marshmallows!” God, she was cute. “I don’t want milk.” She wagged a finger at Sloan and settled at the table.
“If you don’t give her milk, she’ll only eat the marshmallows,” said April.
Sloan nodded. “C’mon, we’ll all have them with milk. You want some, right, Lucas?”
“Yeah.” The kid pulled out a chair, the sound of chewing soon replacing the chaos.
Sloan poured his own bowl of cereal, momentarily torn. Usually, he just ate the marshmallows. He frowned. “Will you pass the milk, please?” He’d planned on doing some laundry and watching the football game at the bar this afternoon, but that plan was obviously thrown out the window. He picked the marshmallows out of their milky bath, careful to avoid the twiggy parts. “Where’s your mom?”
“She’s still sleeping,” said Lucas, his mouth full of cereal. “What happened to your arm?”
“Lucas!” snapped April.
Sloan held up a hand. “It’s okay. I lost it in an accident when I was in the Navy.”
The boy grinned. “Did it get sawed off?”
April smacked his arm. “Lucas!”
“No, it—”
Lucas’s eyes lit. “Was there an explosion?”
“No—”
“Did you get shot?”
April rolled