Page 12 of Broken Daddy

She’d started calling Devi Mouse, saying that she flitted in and out of her classroom as quietly and meekly as a mouse.

It had stuck. And somehow, her father had heard it and thought it was hilarious.

Yeah, there were definitely times when she wished that he would just . . . disappear.

“You know I don’t like being called Mouse,” she told him quietly as she washed her hands then started buttering bread.

Her stomach was rumbling. Damn Aaron. Part of the reason that she’d taken that job was because he had promised her a meal for every full shift. Bastard was always going back on his word.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, Mouse.”

“I’m not being sensitive. My bully gave me that nickname.”

“I thought it was a teacher,” he said as he put a sandwich together.

“It was,” she said tightly.

“Then how could it be your bully?”

“Teachers can be bullies too, Dad,” she told him.

He made a scoffing sound. “Don’t be so fucking ridiculous and get me a beer, will you?”

She fought the urge to tell him that he shouldn’t be drinking at three on a Tuesday afternoon. But she knew that would go down like a lead balloon.

So she checked in the fridge.

Shit. Shit.

She closed the fridge with a sigh, bracing herself.

“Where’s my beer, girl,” he demanded.

“There isn’t any.”

Damn. She’d really wanted to eat that bacon sandwich before she headed out for her second job. But she knew that she had to grab her uniform and get out of here. Unfortunately, she had to get past her father to get to her room.

Lord, she missed Rohan at times like this. Her brother had always been her protector. At times, he’d been her only friend.

“What do you mean there’s no beer?” Her father thumped his fist down on the table. Then he stood. She scrambled backward, away from him as he strode past her toward the fridge. “And why are you acting like that? Do you really think I’d hurt you?”

God.

How could he make it sound like she was the one in the wrong? How many times had he hurt her in the past? Sure, maybe he hadn’t put his hands on her, but emotional pain could be worse.

Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe that’s what the alcohol had done. It had removed his memories, warped them.

As he opened the fridge door, she took the opportunity to rush into her bedroom and lock the door behind her. Then she quickly got changed.

Her hands were shaking and she willed them to stop. She wished she didn’t have work again tonight. That she could go to the studio to work on her pottery. But in order to pay for her supplies and the kiln, she needed a second job.

It was that or give up eating. Or paying the bills.

“For fuck’s sake, girl!” her father roared as he knocked on the door. “Open this door! How hard is it to remember to stock the fridge with my fucking beer!”

Devi bit her lip. She’d have to go out the window. She rushed over and unlocked it, slipping out.

Her stomach was still rumbling, but at least she was free. She ran through the trailer park, glancing back over her shoulder.