“It’s alright, pretty girl,” I tell her, placing my hand on her back. “It was my pleasure.”
Ryan grins up at me, and just like that, the moment is over, but it was more than enough for me to realize that a world without this little girl would be a devastating place. Her father is one lucky bastard.
I look around for Amelia, assuming she’s falling at the boys’ feet and thanking them for saving her little girl like most moms do. But when I find her staring at the metal railing with a hollowness that tears me apart, I instantly begin gravitating toward her. “All good, Angel?”
She shakes her head, still watching the railing. “That was the very last thing my dad built before he passed. He wanted to make the yard safer for the girls.”
“Your dad?” I ask, hating that she looks so broken.
“Yeah, Jackson DiGiorgio,” she tells me. “You probably know him as Old Man Jackson.”
No shit. Old Man Jackson did have a daughter, after all.
He was the best damn carpenter this town ever saw. In fact, he owned DiGiorgio Property Developments and practically built half the town. He was as passionate about his job as I am with mine. No wonder she’s so torn up about it. This railing was his final job, and we’ve just torn it apart.
That knowledge has me promising myself that no matter what time I finish work tonight, whether it be in a few hours or after midnight, I’ll be back here, and I will make this right.
No matter what.CHAPTER 5AMELIAMy phone gets jammed between my ear and shoulder while I busily stir dinner. Glancing at the clock, I turn down the stove as I try to track down our missing Zoey. It looks like we’re in for a slight delay tonight. Dinner should have been fifteen minutes ago but surprise, surprise; she’s late … again.
Zoey picks up on the third ring. “I swear, I’m nearly there,” she rushes out. “I got held up, but I’m just turning into Reading Avenue now. Start dishing it up, and I’ll help you get the girls into their highchairs when I get there.”
“No, no. Don’t rush. We don’t need to call the fire department again today.”
“What?” she gasps, a slight panic to her tone.
“Long story,” I grumble. “Just get your ass here. You know what the girls are like. I’m starting to fear for my life. Feeding time at the zoo was fifteen minutes ago.” I look over my shoulder to assess the situation. I’ve clocked Ryan playing with her Legos, but the other one is too quiet. Way too freaking quiet.
I can practically hear Zoey rolling her eyes, and it draws my attention back to the call. Zoey knows we can’t start dinner without her, especially on family night. She’d kill me, and so would my girls. We’re not really ones to celebrate traditions, but we do have one, and we stick to it religiously. No excuses.
“What are you cooking?” Zoey questions as I hear her nails tapping away on the steering wheel.
I resist scoffing at her question. “Spaghetti,” I tell her. “What did you think we were having? It’s spaghetti every week. That hasn’t changed in two years.”
“Did you make my garlic bread?”
“Hold on,” I tell her before calling out to Ryan. “Can you come help Mommy set the table, please?”
I hear a low growl coming from the living room. “Whyyyyy?” Ryan whines. “I’m real hangry Mommy.” That kid cracks me up. Smirking to myself, I continue stirring our food. It would only make this situation worse if she realized I was laughing at her.
I pass Ryan two plastic bowls while putting mine and Zoey’s on the table myself. “Hello?” Zoey yells through the line. “I’m still here.”
“Oh, yeah,” I laugh. “What was your question?”
“Garlic bread. Did you make it?”
“Yes. There’s garlic bread. You know I cooked garlic bread. I might have even cooked extra, but if you don’t get here soon, I’m going to give it to the girls as your punishment for being late.”
“Your threats won’t work on me, Amelia DiGiorgio. You won’t let the girls fill up on garlic bread before dinner, and you know it.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, placing the garlic bread on the table then handing a small piece to Ryan with a devilish grin on my face. The animal practically rips the food out of my fingers with her teeth causing her to drop the plastic bowls across the floor.
Geeze, maybe she’s hungrier than I thought.
“Shit, Zo. I gotta go,” I rush out.
Zoey laughs. “Okay, okay. I’m about to turn onto your street.”
Zoey disconnects the call, and I turn to find Ryan. “Ugh, Monster. Quick, pick up the bowls. Zo Zo is almost here, and it’s time for dinner.” I watch my child dive under the table trying to collect the bowls on the floor with the garlic bread hanging out of her mouth. If anyone was watching this situation play out, they would think I had no control over these kids.