Chapter Twelve
Veronica
Standing in the kitchen, I start rinsing the dishes to load in the dishwasher. Van has taken Cline to get ready and get her stuff together. Her mom is going to be here in a little while to pick her up, and I’m already missing her. She has kept my mind occupied, not giving me a minute to think about this shit my life has become. Not to mention, she has kept me from throwing myself at Van.
She has been the perfect buffer, a constant reminder to keep my distance from him. With her gone, I’m not sure what I will do. I want Van more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I want to touch him, want him touching me. Most of all, I want to feel him deep inside of me. I want him to make me moan his name, and I’m pretty sure he wants the same thing.
Since we shared our kiss, he hasn’t touched me once, but his bright blue eyes have followed my every move. The hunger in them is easy to see. I swear, it looks like he wants nothing more than to eat me alive. Just the thought of him doing that causes my body to pulse with need.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, and place the last plate in the dishwasher. Just as I grab a dishtowel to dry my hands, there’s a knock at the door. Not wanting to interrupt the little bit of time Van has with Cline, I rush through the house and throw it open. A second later, I am looking into the eyes of a woman that I know has to be Cline’s mother.
I’m so damn shocked; I can barely keep my mouth from hanging open. She looks nothing like I expected, not at fucking all. I have tried to picture her a million times over the last week. Each time, she was someone different. None of the women I envisioned was anything like the woman in front of me. This chick reminds me so much of my mother that it makes me sick to my stomach.
Her blonde hair is pulled up into a tight bun on the back of her neck, pulling her skin so tight that it looks painful. Her obviously surgically-altered nose is tipped up at the end, giving her resting bitch face. Her silicone-filled lips are pressed into a firm line, letting me know she is anything but happy at seeing me. Before I can take the rest of her in, she opens her mouth and starts spewing orders.
“Tell Van to get out here right now,” she says with an unbecoming scowl. “I need to talk to him, and I’m not in the mood to wait.”
Van steps around me and states, “I’m already here.”
A second later, the woman is screaming. She is talking so fast that I can only make out about half of what is coming out of her mouth. I get the gist, though. She doesn’t like me being here and wants me nowhere around her kid. Right now, I’d say she is the one that shouldn’t be anywhere near Cline.
“I can’t believe you would bring some club whore around our daughter,” she shouts, and I have to fight the urge to correct her.
Never before have I been compared to a club whore. Granted, my mother and stepfather insinuated I was a whore more than once, but I always ignored them. With this one, I want to correct her, let her know who I am. Instead, I keep my mouth shut.
She places her hands on her hips and screams, “You promised you wouldn’t have any of your whores anywhere near Cline!”
“You need to watch your mouth, Regina,” Van says, but she ignores him.
She goes on and on, but a growl brings her tirade to an end as Denver pushes his way around Van and me. He stops just a foot or two in front of me and bares his teeth at the woman, looking as vicious as the legendary Cujo. I’m so surprised at his behavior; it takes me a minute to grab his collar and pull him back.
Denver was already grown when Dad gave him to me. Dad got him from a shelter in Indy. He had been brought in after his owner died. The people that ran the shelter didn’t even know his name or age. The only thing they did know was that he was gentle but could be vicious when provoked. Until this moment, I have never seen that happen.
“Oh my God,” she wheezes out, taking a step back. “Please, tell me you haven’t had that animal around my daughter.”
I want to make excuses for Denver, but I see her point. If a two-hundred-pound animal just growled at me, I wouldn’t want it around my child. Then again, I wouldn’t have been screaming and giving the animal a reason to growl.
Running my hand over his head, I try to calm him down. “It’s okay, boy. Everything is going to be all right.”
“Take him inside, Ronni,” Van orders, nodding his head to the back of the house. “I’ll be in there in just a few minutes.”
I give him one last look, before leading Denver away. My stomach drops, knowing that Van isn’t gonna let this go. He’s gonna make me lock up my baby. I can’t blame him, but the thought of doing it makes me sick to my stomach.
As soon as we step into the living room, all thoughts of Denver fly out of my head. Cline is sitting on the couch with tears in her eyes, hugging herself for comfort. I’m taken back by the look of fear in her beautiful blue eyes. Before I can say anything, Denver pulls away from me and rushes to her. He starts licking her face as she wraps her arms around his neck.
“Denver wouldn’t hurt your mom,” I reassure her, thinking his growling must have scared her nearly to death.
She blinks, seeming confused, then asks, “Do I have to go with Mommy?”
When the fear in her voice hits my ears, I’m suddenly taken back to years past, to a time that I begged my father not to make me go back to my mother. Back then, I didn’t understand that he couldn’t keep me. I thought he just didn’t want me. I hope like hell that Cline doesn’t feel the same pain I felt.
“Your Mommy probably misses you,” I tell her softly, sitting down beside her and taking her into my arms. “She’d be lonely if you didn’t go home with her.”
Cline doesn’t say anything, just sobs against my shoulder. Denver cries right along with her, howling loud enough to make my ears ring. I try to shush him, but he just keeps on. Finally, after a minute or two, Cline pulls away from me and looks at my dog.
“I’m okay,” she says, petting his head.
Seeming to understand, he lets out a short bark then plops down by the corner of the couch. She wipes her eyes and gives me a hug. Without even a word, she stands up and walks toward the door. Denver lets out a bark, his eyes trained on her departing figure. I lay my hand on his head, kneading the loose skin on the back of his neck. I can feel the tension running through his body and know the same tension is filling my own.
The minutes tick by, seeming like forever, as I wait for Van to come back inside. Finally, he walks into the living room, looking like his world is coming to an end. He stops just inside the door and looks at me. His eyes move to Denver, and a chill runs up my spine. The fire inside his blue orbs causes goosebumps to cover my skin.
I jump off the couch and say, “I’m so sorry he barked at her. Denver has never growled at a person before. I swear the only time I have heard him even attempt a growl was when he saw a squirrel at the park.”
He looks through me, his blue eyes filled with confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about, Ronni?”
I try to think of a way to answer him, but I’m so confused that nothing comes to mind. He seems so pissed; I was sure he was angry that Denver growled at Cline’s mom. If not, I have no damn idea what is wrong.
“Aren’t you mad about Denver growling at Cline’s mom?” I ask, feeling overwhelmed by the emotions running through my body.
“Fuck no.” He walks over to give Denver a pat on the head. “Your dog is a good judge of character. I would growl at her bitchy ass if I could. I’d probably bite her, too, if I wasn’t afraid of getting rabies.”
I try to think of a response to his words, but nothing comes to mind. I have no idea what is going on in his head. If he’s not angry about Cline, I’m not sure what is wrong with him. Granted, Cline’s mom was a total bitch. Maybe he gets pissed just being around her. I know I would.
“Oh,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say.
He looks at me for a minute before walking over and grabbing my hand. He forces me to stand up, pulling me flush against his body. His eyes meet mine for a minute. I think he is going to kiss me for a second, but he steps away just before his lips touch mine.
“I hate that shit, hate sending her back,” he states, stepping away from me. “It’s fucking with my head, knowing that Cline has to spend so much time with that bitch.”
To be honest, it’s messing with my head too. Cline is super sensitive, crying if any little thing goes wrong. Not to mention, she goes overboard, trying so hard to please everyone—much more so than a little girl of six should. All of that worried me before meeting her mom. Now that I have laid eyes on the woman, it scares the shit out of me.
Knowing he doesn’t need to hear any of that right now, I say the only thing that comes to mind. “I could go with a shot. What about you?”
He looks at me for a second before nodding. “I could handle a few.”
“Come on, then.” I paste on a fake smile, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the kitchen. “There’s a bottle of Jack above the fridge with our names on it.”