Page 65 of Delayed Penalty

“I said,I got it.”

“Fine.” I let the plate go and it clatters loudly on the table, Hayes not expecting me to drop it, I guess. I turn back to the kitchen and flip on the hot water before grabbing the dirty soup pot from the stove.

He scoffs, his chair scraping against the floor. “Are you seriously mad at me for not letting you clean up after me?”

I look up at him. “Are you seriously acting like that’s all this is?”

“Well, yeah, what else would it be?”

“Gee, Hayes, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically, scrubbing the pot with more force than is warranted. “Something to do with last night.”

“Last night…” He shakes his head. “It was…”

“What?” I ask, letting the pot fall into the sink with a rattle. “What was it?”

“A mistake!” Hayes yells. “A big fucking mistake!”

“Oh,” I say, because I don’t know what elsetosay.

A big fucking mistake?Is that what he really thinks? Sure, we slipped up again, buta big fucking mistakeis a bit much, isn’t it? How could it have been when it felt so damn good?

“Itcan’thappen again, Quinn,” he says more quietly this time. “You understand that, right?”

I don’t like how he’s talking to me, like this is allmyfault, andhewasn’t a willing participant in the whole thing. Like he didn’t go into his bathroom afterward and fuck his fist while he called out my name.

I heard him. I got up to get a drink of water because my mouth was so dry after coming so hard, and I heardhim. He’s as guilty as I am, so I don’t know why he’s placing the blame on me right now, but I do know it pisses me off. I’m not the only one who was in my bedroom last night. I’m not the only one who crossed the line. We both did, and he needs to admit it was his fault too.

“You’re right, Hayes. It was a mistake.A big fucking mistake, as a matter of fact. And it won’t happen again. I can promise you that.”

I leave the dirty pot in the sink, walking away before I start crying because I refuse to let him see me cry. Not after last night. Not after everything.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to come after me. I go through my nightly routine with Flora, reading her book aloud to her, even though my heart isn’t really in it. When I’m finished, I step into the hall to find Hayes has closed his door and turned in for the night.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or pissed, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve already fucked up the best job of my life.

The vibe in the house isn’t any better than it was yesterday as I get Flora ready for school. Hayes sitsquietly through breakfast, back to not looking at me and barely even speaking to his niece.

Honestly, Flora and I aren’t any better. We’re both dragging ass today. She’s hardly awake as I braid her hair, and I’m so tired myself that I have to do it three times to get it right. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given I spent most of the night awake, tossing and turning and going over every single moment I’ve had with Hayes in my head.

Did I leave the door unlatched on purpose? Did I purposefully pick my noisiest toy, knowing he was coming home soon? Did I overreact to him ignoring me? Should I have kicked him out when he walked into my room?

The questions are nonstop, so I try to distract myself with a show. The second the couple kisses, I turn it off. I turn to a book, but the characters are banging within the first chapter, so I toss that aside too. I reach for my laptop and watch random videos on YouTube, anything to distract me, but it still doesn’t work. All I can do is think about Hayes and potentially losing my job.

For the first time ever, I actually care about what I’m doing. I like Flora so much, and the thought of being ripped away from her just because Hayes and I can’t control ourselves makes me sick. Then again, maybe it would be for the best if Hayes fired me. It’sclear I’m not good at making decisions. I have no business molding the mind of a young kid when I can hardly keep myself in check.

I hear the front door swing open around ten thirty, but I stay in my room and away from Hayes. I try to convince myself I’m hiding because I’m so engrossed in what I’m doing, but the truth is I’m scared to leave my room. I don’t want to face him after ourdiscussionabout what happened, after he blamed me—the wild and unpredictable one—for what happened between us.

But the longer I stay tucked away, the more frustrated I become. Until last night, I was never afraid to leave my room, never felt the need to hide. I don’t want to live like this, and I also don’t want to stay here with him—not after last night.

“Screw this. I’m leaving,” I mutter to myself.

I don’t know where I’m going. Maybe to my storage unit so I can start going through all the clothes I have stashed in there. I haven’t missed them at all over the last three weeks, so it’s clear I can live without them. There’s no sense in keeping them around if I’m not wearing them. I should sell them and make some cash. I might need it soon anyway.

I push my laptop to the side, then swap my sweats for yoga pants and slide my crossbody bag over my shoulder before pulling open my door. I silently prayhe’s not out in the common area and won’t see me leave.

Of coursethat’s not my luck.

“Where are you going?” Hayes asks from the kitchen as I pass by and beeline for the door.

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