The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,25
mother, Toby. I do, and I know what my mother did, and she did just that.”
Now my voice was totally rising.
“Yeah. I know. I heard. But Daphne didn’t have a choice. She didn’t have anyone she could turn to to help her look out for her and her girls. I didn’t know the woman. Never had the honor. Just heard stories. But my take, she’d be all in if someone had been there to give her babies better. Not you. Using your mom and her hardship as your shield to face the world alone and not give better to your kid, that better bein’ lookin’ after you.”
It was like he’d slapped me in the face.
And I stepped away from him like he’d done just that.
He bore down on me again anyway, taking away the minimal space I gained to demand, “How deep is your shit?”
“That’s not your business.”
“How deep is your shit, Adeline?” he pushed.
I got up on my toes and screeched in his face, “That’s not your business!”
“I was fuckin’ you, it’d be my business,” he growled.
I blinked and fell back to flat footed.
He didn’t appear to notice that either.
“Christ, you know how much sleep I’ve had since hearin’ you’re broke at Christmas?”
“No,” I whispered.
“None, babe. Not a fuckin’ wink.”
What?
“How you gonna buy Brooks presents?” he asked.
“I . . . I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”
“Right,” he snarled.
“Toby—”
“You can sell a hundred goddamn cards at Macy’s and that’s not gonna do dick for you,” he bit out.
How did he know I was selling cards at Macy’s?
I didn’t get to ask that.
Toby kept at me.
“Johnny’s loaded. Dave and Margot are not hurtin’, they’re retired, and they got nothin’ to do except keep their hearts and minds young. And newsflash, Addie, havin’ a baby around might help them do that. And seein’ as I’m equal owner of Gamble Garages, I’m fuckin’ loaded too. You’re surrounded by people who wanna look out for you and got the time and means to do it. And you’re sellin’ fuckin’ flower cards to save face.”
They weren’t flower cards.
Well, some of them were but I didn’t think that was what they were called.
And I wasn’t doing it to save face.
Was I?
“They’re sweet cards,” I snapped.
He tore his fingers through his hair, it was thick and there was lots of it, and if he didn’t slick it back with some kind of product, the front would probably fall to his chin.
Though the back was clipped short at the neck, it was long enough and tapered as it went up, the curls started to form, which was tragically appealing considering it looked amazing but it was clear you could fist your fingers in it, and that didn’t bear contemplation.
Especially not when I was having a public fight with him on the sidewalk in town wearing my kickass army-green bomber jacket over my stupid grocery store smock.
God, I wished I was in some of my black stone-washed with one of the embroidered jackets I’d scored in a vintage shop in Nashville that weren’t exactly a song instead. Outside my cowboy boots, they were the most expensive items of apparel I’d ever purchased.
But they were hot.
Okay, so maybe I was minutely vain.
“You’re losing weight,” he declared heatedly.
“What?” I asked, taken off guard at his change of subject.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.
Oh shit.
He caught on like he was in my mind.
“When, Addie?” he pressed.
“Last night. But I’m not a breakfast kind of girl,” I retorted.
This was a lie.
I was a food kind of girl, in all its dizzying varieties.
And he was right, I was losing weight.
My kid was cute and pudgy.
But I’d once had curves that were now angles.
“And lunch?” he pushed.
“I have a salad waiting for me. And if you’d stop delaying me, I could get to the break room and eat it.”
“A salad,” he said like he’d say, “A sausage casing of shit.”
“It’s healthy!” I yelled.
“When’s the last time you had a decent meal?”
“Who cares?”
“Jesus, Adeline!” he exploded then tipped his beard into his neck to get back in my face and shouted, “I do!”
“I’m eating, Toby!” I shouted back.
“Not enough!” he bellowed.
“I can take care of myself!” I shrieked.
“Not good enough!” he roared.
“How dare you!” I screeched so loud it was a wonder the shop windows around us didn’t implode.
“You good with me and everyone who cares about you watching you waste away?” he asked cuttingly.
“I’m not wasting away, Tobias, for God’s sake, stop being dramatic,” I snapped.