Page 76 of Pretty Relentless

“I’ll grab the stuff out of the dryer,” Annabelle hollers the moment the appliance chimes in completion.

I finish putting the last of the dirty dishes from lunch inside the dishwasher and start a cycle. Once that’s done, I return to my bedroom and grab the load of towels that’ll go into the washer next. After flipping the clothes to the dryer and starting the towels, I join Annabelle in the kitchen, where she’s folding the load already completed.

“What time are we going to Grandma and Grandpa’s?” she asks, folding a pair of my lounge pants.

“About four. Aunt Ginger and the kids are coming too.”

“Uncle Paul?” she asks.

“Nope, they’ve got a birthday party to go to, but Great-Grandma Zelda will be there.”

“Really? Do you think she’ll invite her friend, Betty? Last time she did that, Miss Rutledge came too,” Annabelle states happily, her brown eyes filled with delight.

“I’m not sure,” I reply. I can’t just tell her no, that Ava isn’t driving her grandma anywhere tonight, because then she’d want to know how I know. And that’s a whole mess I don’t want to get into.

“Well, I’m hoping she is. I like her.”

I flash her a small grin, but don’t reply. Mostly because I’m afraid my reply will go something like this.I really like her too. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in love with her. I’ve been spending a lot of time with her without you or anyone elseknowing, and she now consumes me. My thoughts, my dreams, my fantasies. She’s all I think about, all I want.

“Whose is this?”

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by my daughter’s question, and stare dumbfoundedly at what she’s holding up.

Fuck.

It’s Ava’s sweater.

How in the hell did that get mixed up with my laundry? I remember setting it aside, wanting to make sure it stayed in my closet until I could get it back to her. Yet, here it is, being waved in front of my face like a red flag.

My throat is dry, my tongue heavy. “I’m not sure,” I reply, the lie like a punch to the gut.

Before I can reach for the sweater, Annabelle says, “This looks like the one Miss Rutledge was wearing at school yesterday.”

Fuck. Me.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not sure where that came from,” I state with an awkward chuckle. “Maybe it was mixed in with my work stuff from the truck. It could be Max’s girlfriend’s shirt.” When she doesn’t seem convinced, I quickly add, “Or maybe Grandma’s. You know how she leaves stuff lying around every now and again.”

I can feel her gaze on me, but I refuse to look up. I keep folding my clothes as if my life depends on it. When I continue to feel the weight of her stare, I look up, a big smile plastered on my lips. Reaching for the sweater that’s still in her hands, I finally ask, “Are you sure it’s not yours or your mom’s? Maybe it got mixed up in the clothes you brought.”

I know I’m reaching for straws here, but I can’t help it. As much as I’d love to tell her whose sweater it really is—or confirm her suspicions—I can’t. Not without talking to Ava first, and I’m certain she’s not wanting my daughter to know. The risk is toohigh, the chance of her accidentally mentioning it to someone else—her mom, another student,anyone—is too great, and while I’d like to think I can trust my eleven-year-old with this secret, I’d never put her in any predicament. I’d never want her to feel like she has to lie to someone to keep my secret quiet.

“Dad, this is too big for me, and I’m pretty sure Mom would never wear something like this,” she replies honestly. Internally, I wince. Annabelle isn’t meaning to insult Ava, but I understand what she’s saying. Ava wears sensible, comfortable, modest clothing, while Julia is more of the flaunt what your mama gave you type.

“Yeah, you’re right. Must be Grandma’s,” I state, ripping the sweater out of her hand and tossing it aside.

Annabelle nods, returning her attention to what’s left to fold. I’m so grateful she doesn’t comment about the sizing. While she noted the fact the sweater’s too big for her, she didn’t pick up that it’s too small for my mom. Mom isn’t a big woman, but there’s a difference between her large tops and Ava’s small ones.

I gather up the folded clothes, as well as Ava’s sweater, and take them to my bedroom. It only takes a few minutes to put everything away, and I make sure to add Ava’s sweater to the top of my closet. This way, it’s out of sight, out of mind, and hopefully, my daughter doesn’t ask any more questions before I can return it to its rightful owner.

But I’ll never forget the way she looked this morning when she left, wearing my long-sleeved shirt from last night. After our shower, and another round of unforgettable sex, I slipped my shirt over her head and insisted she wear it home. There were no complaints from her either, since she seemed to enjoy having it on. I just don’t think she planned to leave her sweater behind, and I know I sure as hell didn’t plan to leave it where my daughter could find it.

I take a quick look around my bedroom, seeing nothing that belongs to Ava, yet seeing her everywhere. In my bed, standing in front of my dresser, in the bathroom as she got ready to leave. Her image is imprinted on my life, and I realize instantly I don’t want it any other way.

She’s mine.

For as long as she’ll have me.

She just doesn’t really know it yet.

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