We have nothing in common . . . apart from our sense of humor, of course—but as a whole . . . it’s not enough, and to be honest, it pisses me off.
We could have had something. We could have had something fucking great. Claire Anderson is near perfect. However, the life she has . . . is not, and I don’t want to be around those feral kids for even ten minutes. I hate that she has to deal with them alone. She has so much weight on her shoulders, and I don’t know how she bears it. What must it be like to be her?
It’s not your problem.
I get a shiver as I picture the middle child, and I hate to admit it, but the violent oldest one seemed almost normal compared to that serial killer in the making.
I get a vision of him hanging the teddy bear. What the hell was that about?
Did I imagine it?
My phone dances across the coffee table, and I pick it up to see the name Claire.
Shit. “Hello,” I answer.
“Hi, Tris.” My face falls into a sad smile at the sound of her voice.
Fuck it . . . why does she have kids . . . animals—whatever the hell they are?
“I called to see if you’re okay,” she says.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I sigh.
“Oh my gosh, Tristan, I am so sorry.”
I stay silent.
“He’s just super protective over me and had just found underpants in my luggage. They must have gotten mixed up when I had my laundry done,” she lies, and I know he must be listening. “He had a momentary slipup with his temper.”
“Yeah, I was there, Claire. I saw it, remember? Firsthand, actually. Have the ankle to prove it.”
“Anyway, he wants to speak to you,” she says.
“No, that’s . . .”
“Hello,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Hello,” I reply.
He exhales heavily, and I get a vision of Claire standing over him, making him do this. “I’m sorry. I was out of line this afternoon,” he says. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I could have you charged with assault,” I reply.
He stays silent.
“I’m just your mother’s friend from work. You jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was completely out of line.”
No answer.
“Anything else?” I snap in frustration.
“Nope.”
“So that’s your apology?” I frown.
“Yep.”
“Is your mother there making you call me?”