This is about making things fair.
Once upon a time, my beautiful mother was alive and well and my father was a model family man with a stellar reputation. Rich Rose took that from us. He destroyed the man my father should have been, and he robbed every last shred of happiness from our family the day he killed my mother.
Sheridan is nothing more than a pretty little pawn.
A means to an end.
A heart I intend to shatter into a million jagged pieces.
I won’t hurt her physically. Frankly, that isn’t my style.
But I will ruin her.
I’ll ruin her for any other man.
And when she runs home to daddy to dry her tears, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that this time, a Monreaux broke a Rose.
Chapter Six
Sheridan
* * *
“Well, there she is!” My father calls from the kitchen Saturday morning when I get home from Adriana’s. I thought I could sneak in through the back door—thought wrong. “Wondered if you were going to make it in time for breakfast. You hungry?”
The scent of his famous once-a-weekend fare—scrambled eggs, maple bacon, and cinnamon chip pancakes—fills the air.
“Sheridan?” Mom calls when I don’t answer right away.
I was hoping to slip past them, sunglasses over my tired eyes, and duck into the shower to wash the scent of party and cigarette smoke from my hair, alas...
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” I call back. Hurrying to my room, I change out of my clothes and spritz body spray through my messy locks before tying them in a high bun.
When I get to the kitchen a few minutes later, my mom has already fixed my plate. They’ll never view me as an adult. Forever their baby. Their only baby.
“You didn’t have to do this …” I tell her, especially because it takes all the energy she has just to make her own plate these days. She’s already breathless. She should’ve known better. “But thank you.”
“I won’t get to do this much longer,” she says, sipping her coffee with a shaky grip on her mug. “Let me enjoy these last few weekends we have like this.”
“You act like I’m going away forever.” I tease. “I’ll literally be two hours away. I’ll come home all the time, I promise.”
“That’s what you say now, kiddo.” Dad winks from behind his wiry glasses, his gray-streaked hair still damp from his morning shower.
Kiddo.
I bury my reaction with a bite of eggs, pushing away thoughts of what it would do to them if they knew where I went last night, what I did, who I spent time with …
“I thought maybe we could go shopping next weekend?” Mom says. “Your dad’s been putting in so much overtime lately … We should be able to get you some more things for your dorm room. A fridge? Extra linens? And you’ll need slippers for the shower. You know how dirty those things can get …”
I wince at the thought of bringing some strange disease or fungus home to Mama. Her immune system is going haywire this year, attacking itself and weakening her ability to fight off things like ordinary colds.
She sips her coffee, rattling away about all the college necessities we’ve yet to buy. Her medical expenses have grown lately, making our budget tighter than usual. At least that’s what I’ve overheard them saying over the past few months. I picked up a few extra shifts at Priority Cellular for that reason—so I wouldn’t be a burden on their wallet. Lord knows they could use one less thing to worry about.
“You don’t have to do that. I still have all my graduation money.” All three hundred dollars of it. “And I’ve been saving my checks.”
I have a few grand in my bank account, enough to ration out over the school year since I won’t be working. It should cover gas and groceries and a few necessities. It isn’t much, but it’s enough.
I get up to grab a glass of OJ. It’s almost translucent when I pour it into the glass, as if someone diluted it to make it last longer.
“Oh, sweetheart. We insist. This is practically a rite of passage for parents.” Mom tries to make light of it.
I shoot my father a look and he nods. Anything to keep the love of his life happy.
“Maybe we can make a whole day of it? And we can eat at that restaurant you like with the sweet butter rolls.” Mom raises her brows and grins.
“Magnolia Lake?” I haven’t been there in ages …
“That’s the one,” she says, eyes lit.
We went there more often when I was younger. Junior high, to be specific. That was before Dad lost his assistant night manager job at the meat locker—and before Mom’s condition took a turn for the worse.
“Are you off next Saturday?” Dad asks.
“No,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure I can get Adriana to cover for me.”