Loner by Harloe Rae Page 0,80
deafening rattle. I follow her trail of wails and tears upstairs.
She’s laying face down on her bed, skinny shoulders trembling with sorrow. My scrambling brain is already launching to conclusions. Forget the slowpoke jumping crap. That line of irrational thinking isn’t going to solve problems any faster.
Against all of my impulsive instincts, I tiptoe into the room and sit on her mattress. With a soothing stroke along her back, I hum the opening lines of her favorite lullaby. She hiccups into her pillow, but the wailing quiets ever so slightly.
“What’s wrong, baby girl?” The pounding in my temple throbs harder with each cry she releases.
“Ford d-doesn’t wanna b-be our f-friend anymore.” Between being muffled and garbled, her words are tough to comprehend. I get the gist.
It takes all of my frazzling control to remain parked in place. What I really want to be doing is storming outside to give that guy a verbal and possibly physical smackdown. My daughter has her dramatic moments, but going to this extreme over a potential misunderstanding is unheard of. But there’s always a very far off chance she’s changing her stripes. “Why do you think that, sweetie?”
“He told me so.” Millie coughs until I fear she’s going to hack up a lung.
I shush her, singing a bit more. The tune is meant to calm her, but I’m also in serious need of a pause button. That rat bastard is messing with the wrong mama bear. “Well, that doesn’t sound very nice. Maybe he needs a timeout. What do you think?”
She turns onto her side to face me. Her bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes threaten to split my heart in two. “He’s being a meanie.”
“Sure seems like it, Mills. Where’s Ford now?”
She wipes a line of gooey snot on her arm. I picture her doing that to Crawford’s face instead. “Waiting by his car. I think he wants to talk with you.”
He can bet his sorry ass I have a few choice words for him as well. I plaster a wide smile onto my face entirely for Millie’s benefit. “Will you be all right if I go speak to him? I’ll make sure to hurry.”
She nods, inhaling a choppy breath. “He’s not in a good mood, Mama. But don’t be scared.”
A fiery thwack of heat singes my chest. “Did he yell at you?”
Millie shakes her head in vehement fashion. “No, but his daddy isn’t very nice.”
I store that tidbit of information into the recesses of my hazy mind. “Okay, baby girl. Be right back.”
“Love you, Mama.”
I swipe a lock of blonde hair off her sticky forehead, pressing a soft kiss in the balmy center. “I love you very much, Mills.” And it’s high time I defend her honor.
My battle ax sharpens as I descend the steps, locking the offender in my sights. Crawford leans against the passenger side of his ridiculously responsible vehicle choice. I bet he could learn a thing or two from that standard sedan. When he notices me approaching, his broad shoulders tense. His gaze is guarded, solid walls slamming down, as if I’m the one stomping into enemy territory. My sandals slap against the pavement as I erase the remaining distance between us.
I pin him with an unyielding stare, regardless of the maracas shaking in my chest. “Care to tell me why Millie is sobbing uncontrollably after spending less than an hour with you?”
“Father dearest dropped in for an unannounced visit.” His vacant tone gives me chills. From a single flat statement, it’s obvious this isn’t the Crawford I’ve grown to care for. I blink at him, silently pleading for more. He doesn’t give me another utterance. In fact, his stare veers over my shoulder with blank disinterest. This shell of a man reminds me of the guy I met alongside the road that fateful day.
“And what happened?” I make a rolling motion with my hand to prod him along.
Crawford exhales in that bored sort of way, as if I’m wasting his time. “Listen, Keegan. This was fun and all, but I’m not a family man. Who are we kidding, right?”
I reel back, nearly stumbling on air from the blow of his words. “Excuse me?”
His hazel eyes flick to mine before skittering away again. “I can’t pretend this situation is a good fit for me anymore.”
This situation? He’s referring to Millie and me as if we’re a problem to be solved. Something to be tossed away when no longer convenient. I point a finger at him, silently scolding the digit for trembling. “This