Page 42

“Thank you, Shan. And um…since you’re back on the grid now, I actually do think I’m gonna call it a day and go home.”
Ugh.
I hated having my day cut short due to personal drama once again, especially since it wasn’t even like I could hide it.
“Yeah, of course,” Shan readily agreed. “I’ll hold it down around here for you.”
“Again, thank you,” I told her, and she nodded.
Once she left to get back to her own office, I didn’t waste any time packing up to leave. I avoided making eye contact with anyone on my way back through the hive, not wanting to see that same pity I’d been getting all week.
I could still feel the stares though.
There was nothing I could do about it, so I kept it pushing. I already hadn’t been sleeping well since all this mess had blown up, and Monty’s drop-in had brought a fresh wave of emotional exhaustion.
On top of everything else, he’d zapped the last little bit of energy I had.
On the way home, I cleared my head, using an exercise I employed often. I focused on song lyrics, sticking with a whole album, in order to keep myself engaged in that task instead of giving in to the mental load of whatever was on my mind.
It usually worked well.
And today was no different. I was successfully blank in the head with the exception of the unofficial live version of “Cozy” on a loop in my mind.
Until I walked through my front door and was met with the sound of someone already in my damn space.
Not what I was expecting, and certainly not what I wanted.
“Fucking Monty,” I grumbled, tossing my bag and keys onto the table beside the door.
I hadn’t had the chance yet to change the locks, despite what I’d claimed on the phone with Tatum, but that shit was going to get fixed as soon as possible.
I stalked to my kitchen, where the sounds were coming from, ready to verbally rip my former fiancé to shreds for daring to invade my space a second time in the same day.
And hell… maybe actual shreds too, with the way I was feeling.
I turned the corner, my pissed off dial turned all the way to ten…. only to be met with a completely different sight than I expected.
“Auntie Rori!” my four-year-old niece Amina screamed, hopping off her seat at my kitchen counter to run to me.
Zero hesitation, I met her with wide arms, picking her up and pulling her into a tight hug against me.
“Hey, my boo,” I gushed, kissing her on the cheek. “You look so pretty, who braided your hair like this?”
“Ms. Amanda!”
“Oh, well, she did a wonderful job. The prettiest braids for the prettiest girl,” I complimented before I turned to my mother, who was busy at the stove but glanced back to grin at me. “Mama, what are you doing here?”
“My cell phone works just as good as anybody’s,” she said with a pointed look.
If we didn’t talk often, I could have interpreted that as an admonition of not calling enough.
But what she actually meant was that she’d been on social media and had seen everything that was going on.
One more layer of embarrassment I’d done my best to not really think about.
My family.
My family was watching this mess go on, probably had people asking them about it.