“Whatever.” She looks away, knowing I’m right, but too fucking stubborn to admit it.
“You fucked up today. You hurt two people who never did shit to you. You spewed venom about a situation you know jack shit about, and did that shit in front of not only strangers, but our kids, and a little boy who had no clue about Samuel. That is not okay with me.”
“I see how it is,” she says, and her face contorts.
“I’m glad you do,” I mutter, taking a step back. “From now on, we don’t speak unless it has something to do with Steven or Aubrey, and next time you come at me like you did today, you won’t walk away easily.”
“Are you threatening me?” she asks in disbelief, her lips parted and her eyes widening.
“Nope, just telling you how it’ll go down. You’re the mother of my kids, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have you arrested for putting your hands on me.”
She stares blankly at the house, and says to herself, “Just when I think I couldn’t hate you any more than I already do, you prove me wrong.”
“Do you want me to send Steven out, or do you want to call him?” I ask, done with talking to her. Done with her completely.
“I’ll call him,” she hisses, then rolls up her window. She quickly puts her truck in reverse and speeds out of the driveway and down the street. Once she’s gone, I head inside the house and move toward the kitchen, where I hear Aubrey and Steven arguing.
“I don’t want spaghetti. We had that two nights ago,” Steven gripes.
Aubrey mutters something back that I don’t quite catch before continuing. “Well I want spaghetti.”
“You’re not the only one eating, Bre.”
“Dad!” Aubrey shouts, glaring at her brother as I walk through the doorway into the kitchen. “Do you want spaghetti?”
“What I want is for you two not to argue over everything under the sun.” I go to the fridge, grab a beer, and twist the top off.
“Okay, but do you want spaghetti?” she asks, and I fight back a smile as I turn to face her.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re outvoted. Choose something else.”
“We need another girl around here,” she grumbles, looking between her brother and me. “How about baked ziti?”
“Give it up, Bre. We’re not having pasta.”
“Fine.” She hops up on the counter crossing her arms over her chest. “Then you can cook.”
“Fine.” Steven rolls his eyes and goes to the fridge, pulling out a pound of ground beef, but stops when Aubrey asks, “What did Mom say?”
Taking a swig from my beer, I lean back against the counter and look between the two of them. “Nothing for either of you to worry about.”
“Do I have to go over to her house Friday?” Aubrey asks, the same question she’s been asking for the last month whenever her mom’s supposed to have them for the weekend.
“Yes.”
Her shoulders droop. “What if I don’t want to?”
“Bre.” Steven shakes his head, tossing the ground beef on the counter glaring at his sister.
“What? She’s never home when we’re there, so what’s the point of us going?”
“Pardon?” I lower my beer from my lips and study each of them.
“That’s not true, Bre.”
Her hands ball into fist and her face turns red. “Yes, it is, Steven, but you wouldn’t know that, because when we’re at Mom’s, you’re out with your friends and I’m stuck at her house alone.”
“Maybe you should make some friends,” he growls, but I’m done. So fucking done I feel fire course through my veins.
“Steven, is your mom leaving you guys alone on the nights you’re at her house?” His eyes swing to me and he swallows. “Remember our talk outside, bud, before you answer that question.” I warn.
“Sometimes,” he whispers, reading my tone.
“All the time,” Aubrey puts in quietly.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since the end of the school year,” Steven mutters, dropping his gaze from mine.
“Yeah, since Thomas Kink came back into town.” Aubrey rolls her eyes and my body stills.
“Thomas Kink?” I don’t know the guy well, but I do know of him. He’s always here during the summer and makes trips into town once a month in the winter. “Is your mom seeing him, Steven?” I ask, and his lips go between his teeth.
“I don’t know. I think so.” He shrugs. “Why does it matter?”
“It matters, because you guys are going on fourteen, not eighteen. Your mom knows you shouldn’t be left alone so she can go out with her boyfriend.”
“You leave us when you go to work.”
“When I leave, I ask May or Aaron to keep an eye out for you. I’m two blocks away and can swing by if something happens.”
“Mom always tells us how to get ahold of her,” he defends.
Bre pipes up at this. “Yeah, but remember last weekend when I called her? She didn’t even pick up or call me back after I left a message.”
Jesus. What the fuck?
“That was one time, Bre. Stop being so dramatic.”
“I’ll stop being dramatic when you stop defending her!” she yells, hopping down from the counter. “I hate her.” Her hands ball into fists and her cheeks turn pink.