Page 47 of The Cruelest Chaos

I don’t wait around for men anymore. Not after Shane left and let me deal with the fallout from my mother all on my own.

I nod my head once at the guy and head to the kitchen. I guess I should thank him. Maybe I’ve judged him prematurely because he’s here, with my mother.

But just as I step onto the linoleum floor in the kitchen, just a few feet from the living room where he still sits, he says, “Your dad around?”

I clench my fists at the stupid question.Does it fucking look like my dad is around?But I don’t say anything, and I won’t until I get my hands on that egg and cheese. I yank open the fridge, spot it sitting beside the can of beer because there’s nothing else but an empty jar of pickles in here. It’s a biscuit wrapped in tin foil and I close the fridge with my hip, unwrap the biscuit and shove a bite into my mouth before I answer him.

It’s kind of hard and dry, after being tucked away in the fridge probably overnight, but it’s good enough.

I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and turn to face the guy.

“Didn’t Kim tell you?”

The guy looks at me curiously, beer in between his jean clad legs, hands on his thighs. “She told me a couple things about you, but nothing about your father.”

My stomach flips.A couple of things?I tear off another bite of the biscuit and in between chewing ask, “Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

He smirks at me and my skin crawls. I’m very aware that to get to the front door, I’d have to run past him, and to get to the back door, I’d have to move the kitchen table over because Mom blocked access to it. Claimed it was asafety precaution.

“Said you broke up her last serious relationship.”

My eyes widen as I stare at him. I’m gripping the biscuit so hard I feel my finger go through the foil. “Did she?” I manage to ask, trying to keep my tone even.

He nods, runs his finger over the can of the beer as he watches me. He’s got thinning brown hair, wrinkles under his eyes. Maybe he looked better before he started doing the shit my mom does, or maybe he was ugly out the gate. I don’t know, nor care, but I want to get the fuck out of here.

I’ll take Mom’s car and the fifty cents I still have for a drop of gas to leave them to their bullshit.

“Said you couldn’t keep your hands off of him.”

I stiffen, the food turning to ash in my mouth. I set it down on the counter, next to the sink full of dishes. I grip the counter with one hand, try to unfurl my fist with the other.

“That’s not exactly what—”

He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture as he rolls his eyes. “I told her you needed a father figure.” He eyes me up and down and I pull down my sleeve, balling it in my hand. “You probably wanted the attention, right, Ella?”

I feel tears sting the back of my eyes, and I’d like to think it’s because I’m angry. But I know that’s not it. It’s because, as disgusting as he is, what he’s saying is true.

Even still.

“No,” I snap. “I was barely eighteen. Mom left us alone for days at a time. Shane took me to apply for jobs. Fed me. He attended my high school graduation while Mom was strung out in a parking lot somewhere.”

I leave the biscuit on the counter and walk into the living room, headed to the door but keeping my eyes on this guy. “If you think you’re gonna step in andbe my father, you should just get the fuck out now, asshole. I don’t let her dump me on men anymore.”

His eyes narrow and he stands to his feet.

I feel my stomach dip, but I turn away from him and stride to the door, yanking it open. I hear his footsteps at my back at the exact same time I look up and see Maverick pulling open the flimsy screen door, a smirk on his face.

The footsteps at my back stop.

Maverick’s gaze darts behind him, and that smirk disappears, his eyes narrowing. He steps into the trailer, pushing past me.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks the guy at my back.

I hide my smile and turn around too, cocking a brow from behind Maverick’s back. I have no idea why he’s here so damn early, but I’m not about to ask in front of this bozo.

I can smell Maverick, this close to his broad back. He’s wearing a white zip-up jacket and black sweats, and he still smells like leather.

“I’m her mother’s boyfriend,” the guy lies, sounding annoyed, but his voice is a little unsteady, too. “And who are you?”