I nod at her when I stand fully before walking away.
“You don’t like her do you?” my friend asks once we step out of the daycare.
“I don’t dislike her,” I mutter, unwilling to go into what happened yesterday. I may have overreacted, but it still upset me to walk in and hear that woman singing to my daughter.
“She probably thinks you hate her. Did you even say a word to her before walking away?”
I shake my head.
He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.
“She was taking care of Nate. Why would I need to speak with her?”
We walk through the quiet living room and out the front door. Apollo doesn’t speak until we step inside of the garage.
“Common courtesy?” It sounds more like a question than the answer to one.
“I’ll speak to her next time,” I tell him, but I plan to say as little as necessary.
I don’t see Ali as someone just taking care of my kid. She isn’t just an employee of Cerberus, but I’m also not going to go out of my way to make her feel any kind of way.
“Is it because of how pretty she is?”
I stop dead in my tracks and glare at him. “What does her being pretty have anything to do with anything?”
“So you do acknowledge that she’s pretty.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you did in a way.” Apollo opens the fridge door, pulling two cans of soda out.
Despite what he told Ali, it’s honestly too early to drink. Alcohol would only dull my senses, and I need to live right in the middle of my pain. Plus, alcohol could make me lose the control I barely hold on to some days with that gun in my bedside table.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I take the cold can from him, popping the top and taking a long swig to avoid having to look at him.
“She is pretty,” he says, turning his back to me to tinker with something on the workbench.
Ignoring his statement, I take a seat in one of the chairs, grateful for the air conditioner in the building.
“What exactly did you need help with?”
He shrugs, lifting his drink from the workstation table before walking across the room. “Nothing really, but from the look on your face, you would’ve told Ali to fuck off if she asked what your plans were for the day. You looked like you wanted to run at the sight of her.”
I don’t respond because turning back around was my initial reaction.
“Maybe if you got to know her better—”
“I don’t need to know her better. My wife just died, you inconsiderate fuck. The last thing—”
“Enough,” Apollo snaps, his voice so sharp that I actually listen. “I’m not trying to hook you up with the girl, but maybe if you knew more about her, you’d be more comfortable with her taking care of Aria when you need to get away.”
I drop my eyes to the soda in my hands, feeling thoroughly chastised.
“I know what happened, Harley. I’ll never say I understand or can fathom what you’re going through, but I know you eventually plan to go back to work, and you’re going to need to trust the people your child is with while you’re away.”
“Good point,” I mutter. “How do I get to know her without her thinking I’m—”
His laugh cuts me off. “Give the woman some credit. She’s not going to think you’re flirting if you just hold a conversation with her. Maybe start by apologizing for being a dick.”
“I don’t want to talk about Lana with a woman I don’t know,” I argue.
“She doesn’t need a reason. Just tell her you’re going through some shit, and leave it at that.”
I nod in understanding, knowing I need to make things right with the woman even though I doubt she would take it out on my child for being a dick to her twice now.
“I’ll apologize,” I vow, taking another sip of my soda.
“Hey, assholes!” Spade walks in with a wide grin on his face, and I love the man for never being one of the ones to avoid me.
I know the guys aren’t trying to be rude, but there’s an elephant in the room and no one, including myself, wants to talk about it. I’m avoiding Slick daily, and I watch the door as more of the guys filter in.
“She’s not coming. She went with Griffin to meet with Dr. Alverez,” Legend says as he grabs a drink from the fridge.
“Dr. Alverez?” Apollo asks. “The shrink?”
“Psychologist,” Boomer clarifies. “They’re starting up some kind of local coalition for battered and abused victims.”
“For women?” Spade asks.
“Victims,” Boomer clarifies. “Consequently, domestic violence is higher in homosexual couples than their hetero counterparts.”
Spade smiles, and I know something stupid is coming. “You’re all up on gay data, Boomer. Something you want to disclose?”
“Stop,” Legend says. “The man actually listens when Slick talks rather than just staring at her tits.”