“Yeah?” she answers, peeking at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I think I need to go get you some help,” I tell her, not feeling even a little comfortable leaving her, but I think I need to. I can see the cut above her eye, but she might be more injured than I know. “I promise I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees, and I lift her hand to hold my blouse against her eye.
I start to stand, but a hand rests on my shoulder, stopping me. I tip my head back, coming face-to-face with an older man in a police uniform. “She needs help.”
He nods then leans into the car over me and touches Grace’s cheek. “Ma’am, can you open your eyes?”
“I can, but I don’t want to,” she answers, making me smile and the officer chuckle.
“Can you try for me?” he asks.
She lets out a huff as she opens her good eye then asks, “Are you happy?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Damn, why didn’t I ask her that?
“I don’t think so. But my head is killing me.”
“Did you knock it on the steering wheel?”
“Yes.” She lets my hand go to reach out and touch the steering wheel. “The Beast was lifted off the ground when the tornado came down, and when he dropped, I hit my head.” The Beast. I smile at the name of her car. It does look like a beast. The baby-blue Buick Century must be at least twenty-seven years old if not older and is the size of a boat. “Thank God I didn’t listen to my son and get one of those little cars that are all the rage. If I had, I’d be across town.”
“You’re probably right about that,” the officer agrees before asking for an ambulance in the little speaker attached to his shoulder. “I’m going to have you taken to the hospital. That cut above your eye is going to need stitches.”
“Will you stay with me, Mia?” Grace asks, grabbing my hand so hard it hurts.
“Yeah, Grace, I’ll stay with you,” I assure her.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, closing her eye once more. I hold her hand as we wait for the EMTs to arrive, and once they do, I get into the ambulance with her. As the doors are being closed, I spot the man who saved me earlier standing with a group of men, his hands on his hips. Like he feels my eyes on him, he lifts his head, and I ball my hands into fists as our eyes lock.
I watch his eyes narrow right before the doors are slammed closed, and then a moment later, I feel the ambulance move. I let out my breath and shake off the feeling of regret in my chest. The last thing I need right now is to become infatuated with a man, especially when I have learned over and over that men are a waste of time. My father let me down time and time again while I was growing up. My ex proved his worth when he let me go without even a little bit of a fight. And my sister is now trying to get her life back after her husband went looking for something between another woman’s legs.
I don’t need another man to come in and reinforce my ideas about the male species. I need to focus on the good things I have going for me and work at creating a life for myself, one where I know I will never ever be dependent on a man.
CHAPTER 2
Mia
I PARK MY car in my sister’s driveway and turn off the engine. As soon as silence settles over me, I let my head fall back to the headrest. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind, and I’m exhausted. I’ve talked to Ken every week, and he’s assured me that as soon as he gets approval from the structural engineer that the dealership can open, I’ll have my job back, but so far, that hasn’t happened. In the meantime, I’ve been working at the bar where my sister works, taking the lunch shift, which means I’ve taken a huge pay cut. Then again, I’m lucky to have a job at all, even if the money I make is eaten up quickly with just day-to-day costs and helping my sister out right now.
I let out a cleansing breath then open my eyes. As much as I want to just stay here in the silence for a few minutes longer, I know that in the house a few feet away, my sister is surrounded by chaos. Before her husband’s affair, she was a stay-at-home mom with only a high school diploma. Now, she bartends in the evenings and is going to school online during the day to get her teaching license, something she always wanted to do. I’m proud of her, proud she is taking control of her life and working on bettering herself. Still, I’m pissed she’s let Mike—who is still technically her husband—off the hook by denying any help from him. Part of me resents it, but I have to give him props, because he is still a great dad, and every month, he pays what he’s supposed to and even asks if more is needed. Not that my hardheaded sister will accept anything extra from him.
With a frustrated sigh, I pick up my bag from the passenger seat then open the door. I slam it closed with my hip then head up the sidewalk to the front door of the four-bedroom brick house my sister lives in. The first time I saw her house, I thought it looked like a smaller version of the house from Home Alone—red brick, with black shutters and white pillars out front, accentuating the entryway.
The closer I get to the front door, the louder the shouts and laughter from inside become. I smile as I punch in the code for the lock, and when it clicks open, I walk inside. “Hey, my babies.” I squat down to greet Mercury and Retro who are both lying in Retro’s bed near the door, neither of them even attempting to get up, probably exhausted after playing with the girls when they got home from school. I rub them down as their tails and chubby bodies wag in excitement.
I adopted both my girls five years ago from a guy parked at the grocery store with a sign saying he had free puppies. I didn’t plan on getting a puppy that day but couldn’t help taking a peek. The guy told me they were bulldogs and something else. I didn’t care what breed they were; I just knew I had to have them when I fell instantly in love. My girls are nearly twins, except where Mercury is all white, Retro has one beige-colored ear.
After I give them both head rubs, I drop my purse on top of the growing pile of bags, jackets, and other odds and ends just inside the entryway then walk down the long hallway that leads into the kitchen and living room. As soon as I reach the end of the hall, I see my sister Cece in the kitchen with her back to me and her phone to her ear. My six-year-old niece Ruby is standing at the counter, mixing something that is bright green in a glass bowl. My nine-year-old twin nieces Lola and Kate sit across the island from her, each of them on their iPads, Kate probably playing a game while Lola is most likely reading.
“Mimi!” Ruby shouts when she spots me, and I squat down as she hops off the stool and runs toward me then laugh when she hits me at full force.
“Hey, Little Miss Trouble.” I kiss the side of her head as she wraps her arms around my shoulders, and I palm the back of her head as I stand. “Have you been good today?” I ask, and she leans back, smiling her crooked smile and showing off her one missing front tooth.
“I’m always good.” I raise a brow, and her smile grows. “What? I am always good.”
“Liar.” I tickle her as I walk to her sisters, who are both smiling. “Hey, my sweet girls,” I whisper, then kiss each of their heads, gaining a “Hey, Mimi” in return before I carry Ruby around the counter. I place her on the stepstool she was standing on then watch over her shoulder as she picks up the whisk from the bowl and starts to spin it through the green goo again. “What are you making?”