The Right Guy - Liz Lovelock Page 0,4

alerts me to a chubby-cheeked boy running right for my legs.

“Stop him, Charity. He’s got jam all over his face,” Mom yells. I catch him just before he gets the chance to smear his breakfast all over my new pants and white top.

I pick him up and put him in his highchair. “Look at you, you little grub. Are you trying to force me to change before I leave?” I coo. The smile on his face makes my heart soar. This kid has ways of having everyone wrapped around his little fingers.

“Yes,” Beau says proudly.

“He’s quick,” Mom says as she places a plate on the highchair with another piece of toast.

“Yes, he is,” I agree.

Gesturing to the table set with a pile of food, Mom says, “Help yourself to whatever you feel like. Do you want a lift to school, or would you like to walk? It’s only two blocks away if you remember.”

“I’ll just walk if that’s okay.”

“Not a problem.”

After I finish a filling breakfast, Mom hands me a bag. “This has everything you need. Paul and I got you a laptop.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that. I would have gotten one once everything was finalized with Dad’s stuff.” I glance down at the bag and then back to her. “Thank you,” I choke out.

Mom wraps her arms around me, and it’s like her love fills me with such emotion that it overflows. Tears brim my eyes as she holds me tightly. I haven’t let her get close enough to hug me. I knew this would happen. Dad told me that big girls don’t cry.

I jerk back from Mom as though my father’s words have slapped me across the face.

“Sorry. I’ll see you after. Thank you again.” I swallow down the lump in my throat and wipe away any evidence of my tears. Mom’s eyes shine with concern. If only she knew the half of how destroyed I am inside.

Tears are for the weak.

The streets and houses are the exact same as I remember them from when I’d walk to school with Mom when I was younger. A memory captures me as I see the very familiar ice cream cart on the corner. My father stopped there every day on our way home when he’d collect me from school. Jase had been with me. He’d treat us both to whatever we wanted. My heart clenches at the happy memory.

The sun beats down on my skin, darkening it. My mother has a beautiful complexion I wish I’d inherited. Maybe because my life has been largely spent indoors, and I’ve never had the chance to bathe in the sunlight. The sun’s rays are like a drug I want more of. I want more freedom—something I’ve not experienced in a long time.

I’m not sure what Dad’s aim was in keeping me locked away from the world. I’d always thought it was normal until I was sixteen. My friends would invite me places, and Dad’s answer was forever the same—no. One night, I pushed and pushed to the point where he literally shoved me into the wall. I never spoke to him like that again. I saw the raging flame in his dark, haunting eyes. If I’d kept going, I’m not sure what would have happened. He wasn’t the man he was when I was younger.

Surely, though, he cared about me. He had to. He wouldn’t have treated me how he did if he didn’t care about me and want to keep me safe. Yes, that was it. He cared. A hard pain punches me right in the chest at the thought of doubting Dad. There are reasons for everything. Things happen because they are supposed to.

Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized the college campus was now in view. The large, dark brick buildings with a shining green lawn. Panic claws at my chest. Panic at the thought of running into those familiar faces that surely are going to have questions which I’m not willing to share the answers to.

Just make it through the first class, and the rest will be easier, I remind myself. I can do the hard things.

So many faces turn my way as I enter the campus quad. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. I make a beeline for the entrance doors, my eyes focused on them. The hustle and bustle of the corridor has me looking around in amazement. I’ve always been at home, gone to school, and then gone home again. There