Piece by Piece (The Riggins Brothers #2) - Kaylee Ryan Page 0,6
her hand. “It’s yours.”
“I can’t keep accepting these kinds of tips, Owen,” her sweet lips say my name.
“You can.” The tips I’ve given her are nothing for a man like me.
“I-I’m not for sale.” She glances at her feet, and I want those blue eyes on me.
“Layla.” My voice is strong, causing her head to slowly rise, and those blue eyes to go wide. “I’m not trying to buy you.”
“I don’t understand.” She looks at her hand that’s now clutching the cash as if it were her lifeline.
“You provided a service, and I tipped you. End of story.”
Her eyes well with more tears. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Now, tell me what’s wrong. Who hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “No one. My car won’t start, and I couldn’t get ahold of Ronnie, and the tow truck said it’s going to be a hundred dollars to tow it two miles to the repair shop. My feet hurt, and I’m dreading walking the eight blocks to my apartment, but I don’t want to spend the money on an Uber, and I’m tired,” she adds. “So, damn tired.”
“Who’s Ronnie?” Sounds like a real prick for not picking up for her. He’s obviously not concerned for her safety. It pisses me off. If you’re going to be in a relationship, then you need to be in it. You make the choice. He needs to man the fuck up.
“He works with me. He and his wife, Linda. They helped me when I got to town, and now they’re family.”
I feel my shoulders relax. “Come with me.” I hold my hand out for her. No way can I leave her here like this.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t question me. Instead, she places her small hand in my larger one and allows me to guide her to stand from the bench. With her hand in mine, I lead us to the front of the hotel, and motion for a car. That’s another perk this place offers, a car service. Sure, they bill it to your room, but it beats having a rental and to pay for parking. Layla is still and quiet beside me. “Climb in,” I say when the car pulls up. She bites down on her bottom lip, a few seconds of hesitation before she pulls her hand from mine and slides into the back seat.
“Address?” I ask her.
She rattles it off to the driver. “Thank you, Owen,” she says softly.
Giving her a nod, I turn to look out the window, pretending that seeing her upset doesn’t affect me. I watch as each block passes, the more rundown the homes look. When we pull up to a rundown apartment complex, I stare at the thugs that are hanging around. “You live here?”
“Yeah, I was lucky to find this place when I moved here seven years ago. It’s not much, but it’s home.”
“Where is your family?”
“Ronnie and Linda,” she starts, but I hold my hand up, stopping her.
“Your blood family.”
She shrugs. “It’s really not that interesting,” she tells me.
“Try me.”
Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhales. “I never knew my father. Anytime I asked about him, my mom would tell me that he didn’t want me and left us. My mom, well, she’s only a mom in name. I was cooking and cleaning up after her when I was a kid. My earliest memory is when I was about five. It’s fuzzy, but I can remember the bus dropping me off at our apartment of whatever rundown dump we were living in. She’d be passed out on the couch; alcohol, drugs, not really sure. Anyway, I made a peanut butter sandwich, she woke up and swiped it off the counter, stumbling back to the couch. That started our routine. I took care of her.”
Jesus. “Where is she now?”
“I’m not sure. I left Indiana the day they handed me my high school diploma. I never looked back.”
“Aunts, uncles, grandparents?” Surely, she’s not all alone.
“None that I ever met. Mom didn’t know her dad, and from what she tells me, her mom wasn’t much better.” She sits up a little taller in the seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just laid all that on you. Thank you for the ride.” She holds out her hand, and the cash is still there.
“I’m not taking that,” I tell her. My voice is commanding. I’m expecting an argument, but she surprises me when she leans in and kisses my cheek.
“Thank you, Owen. I’m not sure who sent you to me when I needed