“I can’t believe you’re the mother of my children. God, Amelia. You are such a fuck up,” Bryce tells me, always having to have the last word.
How wrong was I to think I was safe from being stabbed in the back by that awful man? I just need to remember to breathe.
Zoey walks forward and drops down on the couch beside me. She instantly pulls me into her arms as she takes the phone from my hand and tosses it down on the couch. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything when he started to go off like that, but Ryan was devastated. I thought it was best to get her to her room so she didn’t hear what he was saying.”
“No, don’t be silly. She didn’t need to be exposed to that crap. How was she? Was she okay?”
“No, not really,” Zoey says with a broken sigh. “She was really upset and didn't understand what she did wrong, but I settled her down. She’s had a big day, the poor thing, but she'll be alright. I told her you would go in and kiss her goodnight when you were finished.”
“Okay, thanks,” I murmur, sullenly.
“Hey,” she scolds, pulling me back to look me in the eye. “Don’t let that bastard get in your head. You know what he said isn’t true. Those girls could not ask for a better mother than you.”
I squeeze her hand, thanking her once again before excusing myself to go and check on my girls. It’s been a harder night than I had thought. I fix both their blankets and kiss their heads. I missed both their bedtimes tonight, and especially after Bryce’s words, that fact doesn’t sit easy on my heart.
I head back out to the living room and look up at Zoey to notice she’s already gotten into the wine. “What? You couldn’t even wait for me before you cracked it?”
Zoey shrugs her shoulders. “So … you okay?” she asks, jumping straight into the heavy stuff. “That was fun.”
She knows I needed a minute to get myself together, but she also won’t let me feel sorry for myself. I groan, leaning my head on the back of the couch and looking up at the ceiling, trying to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight. “What is wrong with him? He’s such an asshole.” Frustration overtakes me. “What did I ever see in him?”
Zoey bursts out laughing at the look on my face. “I don’t know, Mills, but it’s definitely entertaining. You are surrounded by fruit loops.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, under my breath.
“At least you’ll always have me,” she says in all seriousness.
Turning my head, I swallow a mouth full of wine then tell her how much I love her before completely breaking down in her arms.
“Listen, how about you lie down while I go and clean up the kitchen? You can process everything, collect yourself, then move the fuck on. You do realize that he’s winning the battle now, right? He has you all over here, doubting yourself and crying your eyes out. Do you honestly think he’s losing sleep over what’s just gone down?”
I shake my head.
“No, he’s not. Don’t sweat the small stuff, Mills. He’s an asshole, we know this, end of. Nothing is going to change that, especially tonight.”
I shrug my shoulders, turning to look back at the television and allowing myself to get lost inside my head.
“So … like I said,” Zoey continues. “I’m going in there.” Getting up off the couch, she points toward the kitchen. A kitchen that resembles a mass murder with red sauce covering every available surface.
I giggle, pulling myself together because I don’t think she realizes just how much of a mess I made, and it’s going to take an army to clean that up.
Sucked. In. That will teach her to be late for dinner.
“Once I’m done, we’re going to talk about this eventful day you’ve had, or more specifically, Angel, a certain fireman in a big wed twuck.” She mimics Ryan’s voice and smirks at me, bouncing her eyebrows up and down trying to look funny, but completely missing the mark. “If it makes you feel better, I might also fill you in on my night with a different fireman.”
She ducks as I throw my pillow at the back of her head, completely anticipating my move before running off laughing “HEY!” she says, trying to appear like a boss bitch. “No throwing pillows in the house.”
“Damn it! If you didn’t duck, that would have been a good one.”
I grab the remote, flicking through the channels trying to find something to watch. “Who are you trying to kid?” I call through to the kitchen. “You will be telling me all about your night anyway.” After finding my favorite show, Vikings, I settle in feeling like I have won a small victory. I get to enjoy the next hour all alone, admiring my dream husband, Bjorn Ironside.