Good Girl (Alphahole Roommates 2)

My brother-in-law’s bar is sorely lacking. He has no hard liquor, only brandy, wine, and beer. Beer will have to do.

My phone chimes and I take it out of my pocket.

Jada: How are you? How’s your father?

I can’t answer her right now. I tuck it back in my pocket and stare out the window.

A few minutes later, the kids are dropped off by Dirk’s parents and Braed’s climbing on me, showing me something on his learning tablet, and I feel so numb, I barely acknowledge him.

A minute later, he’s squealing as Aiden is hauling him into the air upside down.

I glance over and Carly has her concerned eyes on me.

“She might be lying, Austin,” Carly says. “The wedding was only two weeks ago.

I look at her and sigh. “How soon would she know?

“If she’s late, it’s possible, but only just. She might be faking it so she gets you to drop the charges.”

“We’ll find out, I guess,” I say and take another pull from my bottle of beer and blow out a long breath.

“Call your lawyer,” Dirk suggests.

“Good idea. I’m sure he’s got nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon than bill me six hundred bucks an hour.”

I pull my phone out.

My lawyer tells me he wants a female lawyer from their firm to take the lead on my case. A woman standing up there speaking for me about what Sienna pulled on me could have more weight, especially if there’s a jury. No doubt her side is going to do their best to make her look innocent.

I don’t wanna play these games of strategy. I want my life back. I don’t have a clue what’s in store for me right now.

I get off that call and cancel my flight back to New York. I need to meet with the lawyers tomorrow.

Dinner is quiet, a very reserved meal. Afterwards, we all go to the hospital to visit with Dad, including the kids so we decide to leave this alone, to say nothing.

After leaving the hospital and getting back to my house, my mother calls me. I managed to avoid her all day Saturday. I’ll be avoiding her today, too.

31

Jada

It’s Monday afternoon and I haven’t heard from Austin since Saturday night. In case he’s back today, I go out of my way to make him a nice dinner. Stuffed pork tenderloin, au gratin potatoes, and a cheesy breaded vegetable dish my vegetarian brother always asked me to make on his birthday. I go out of my way to doll myself up a little bit, too, adding some curl to my otherwise bone-straight hair, putting on more makeup than usual, wearing my best push-up bra with a scoop neck top that I think of as my ‘boobalicious’ shirt. A pair of sixteen-dollar undies I bought today.

Austin doesn’t show up, so I text him again before I go to bed.

I hope everything is okay. Could you please text me when you get a chance?

I’m suddenly worried about his father. I go onto social media and click to Carly’s profile to see if I see anything to ease my mind. Nothing.

A few hours later, I look again. Carly has posted a goofy picture of Aiden and her at a Benihana’s. If Mr. Carmichael was in rough condition, those two wouldn’t be out at a restaurant like that, I’m sure.

A text comes through.

Austin: I got stuck in San Diego for an extra couple days.

Me: Is your dad okay?

Austin: He’s better. Just some stuff I have to deal with.

I stare at the screen and try to think of what to say. I can’t think of anything.

I can’t make myself not answer, so I write back one more time.

Me: Hope everything is ok. Let me know if I can help at all.

He doesn’t reply to that.

And I barely sleep that night.

I hope everything is okay with him. I don’t like how the text conversation makes me feel, though.

I wanted playful Austin. He was playful Saturday, so playful.

Tuesday, I hear nothing from him and I’m feeling … hurt.

***

Wednesday afternoon, I’m at the island, staring at my laptop. I haven’t been able to write any fiction this week. My brain has been too clouded. I’ve been rendered creatively useless.

It’s been sobering, too, because I’m kind of angry about it. Angry that I let the fact that he hasn’t given me the time of day for days get in the way of my life, my plans.

Maybe the things that happened with us were something I took way more seriously than he did.

He comes in and closes the door, hooking his laptop bag over the hook.

My heart races when our eyes meet. And something is definitely wrong between us.

His eyes don’t look angry. They don’t look lustful. They look different.

I feel like I’m about to cry.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi,” I say, a lump forming in my throat.