Page 40 of What I Should Have Felt

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a week now, but I’m worried you’ll get upset,” Azelie muttered. I glanced back at her as she twisted a loose thread between her fingers.

“I promise I won’t get mad. Does this have to do with a boy?” I tipped my head, and her cheeks turned a smidge pink, but she shook her head.

“Not this time. Well.” She furrowed her brows and met my gaze. “Yes, but not one for me.”

“What boy, then, are we going to be talking about?”

“A man, technically. Like a man, man. Macy won’t stop gushing about him.” She quickly tore her eyes away from mine and stared at the quilt once more.

Closing the book in my lap, I laid it down on the bleached oak nightstand beside me. My gaze lingered for half a second on the spider lilies blooming so brightly. He’s always said my hair was the same color as them… Like cherry wine on a hot summer night, even though we’d only snuck alcohol from my parents that one time. It was also the first time he’d kissed me—truly and passionately kissed me. Ford kissed me as if I would be the one and only girl he’d ever kiss in his life.

“Mom?” Azelie questioned, and I ripped my gaze away from the flowers.

“Sorry, baby. All right, what man has Macy been unable to stop gushing about?” I asked.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Uh, Ford,” she stated, grabbing at one of her curls.

My heart twisted. But not out of dread, and my brows rose as I slapped a hand against my chest. No, hearing his name, just the mere mention of him, had me immediately terrified of the absolute and undeniable desire coursing through my veins.

“What—” I clacked my teeth together once. “What about Ford?”

“Why’d you send him? Aren’t we supposed to hate the Thibodeauxs? But I know you wouldn’t have sent somebody you didn’t trust to get me, especially considering this bad dude that’s in town.” She raised her brows, and I studied her two different-colored eyes.

A hazel one, just like him. A green one, just like me. So much of him was in her. Her dreamer spirit was him. I honestly wasn’t really that upset that I was still here; the biggest reason I’d talked so much about leaving town was because he wanted to. And going with him had been more important to me than getting out of this place.

Reaching forward, I placed a palm against her cheek. “Is that what you think? That we hate the Thibodeauxs?”

She nodded. “Grammy and Pop Pop have always kept me away from them. I’m fifteen and didn’t actually meet face to face with one of the Thibodeauxs until a week ago. Isn’t that exactly what is going on?”

Shame rolled my shoulders forward, and I dropped my hand back into my lap. “Oh, baby. I’ve failed you. No. We don’t hate the Thibodeauxs.”

But she had a point. My parents had never once spoken kindly about them, even when they brought over some ingredients when a restaurant order had been delayed. Even when our air conditioner broke down and Ford’s father came and helped fix it when my dad was out of town, they hadn’t even voiced a thank you.

In fact, they’d said some pretty awful things to Azelie before, some lies about how they were unkind, and had stolen things from us before. I’d brushed it off as petty excuses for the rivalry, but…

I lifted my gaze back to hers. “I don’t hate them, Azelie. They are good people who run a business that is in competition with ours. Plain and simple.”

Slowly, she nodded. “But—”

Glass shattered all over my bedroom floor. A brick crashed against the side of my mattress, and I dove on top of Azelie. She dug her fingers into my sides as I sheltered her beneath me. Screams from the living room muffled her shriek, and I ripped my head up from Azelie’s shoulder.

What was going on? Were we being attacked? I glanced at the shattered window. Whoever had thrown this glass brick aimed for the half that wasn’t open. They had purposefully targeted the panes of glass to add to the shock.

More shrieks and screams echoed into the room, along with wood splintering. Ceramic crashed against a solid surface, and a few grunts rose.

Mom. Dad. Were they okay?

“Stay by me,” I instructed, knowing we needed to get out of here, and dove for the drawer on my nightstand.

Azelie slid off the bed as I ripped it open. “Shit,” I cursed, remembering that my knives were stolen.

My daughter’s eyes widened. “Shit? Why shit?” she gasped.

Shoving the drawer closed, I snatched my cell phone off the nightstand, stuffed it in my pajama shorts pockets, and grabbed her hand.

“Don’t say that word.” We quickly ran to the door of my bedroom. The lights went out just as I pulled it open and peered outinto the dark hallway.

“Stop, please!” my mom shouted. A grunt followed her plea as the brittle explosion of glass shattering echoed again. Wood splintered. Fabric shredded as Azelie and I crept along the hallway.

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