Page 88 of Fierce-Jax

Dillion rolled her eyes over the outfit not matching but couldn’t bring herself to care either. Gianna had on jean shorts, a black and red checked shirt, yellow, green, and orange mix-matched socks, and purple sneakers.

Freedom of expression, she told herself.

Something her father never let her get away with, thinking it’d reflect poorly on him.

It was one of those things she refused to fight about knowing there’d be more important things as Gianna got older.

She grabbed the brush and ponytail holder and combed her daughter’s hair to put it up.

“I want my hair braided,” Gianna said. “Like Grandma does.”

“Grandma can do it when she gets back,” she said.

Gianna folded her arms and snapped her head down to pout.

Dillion held back grinding her teeth. “That hurts,” Gianna cried out.

“Then don’t put your head down when I’m brushing it,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

“Can we get munchkins on the way?”

“Not today,” she said. “We don’t have time. I’m sorry, but we’ll do it on Friday. I promise. We’ll get enough for your entire class, how about that?”

“Okay,” Gianna said, standing up and running out of her room and down the stairs.

Dillion went to her room and grabbed her shoes, slipped them on, and then was going to gather their things and leave.

“Get your backpack,” she said. “And make sure everything is in it that you need.”

“I need a lunch,” Gianna said.

Her shoulders dropped. Her mother usually took care of that for her and she almost forgot on Monday too.

Talk about being a horrible parent.

She opened the fridge, found one of those ready put-together kid’s lunches, stuck it in Gianna’s lunch box, then added a granola bar, a mini bag of chips, a banana, and two small bottles of water.

Plenty enough for her to have for lunch and a few snacks.

“Let’s go,” she said.

She stuffed the lunch box in Gianna’s pink backpack, then rushed out the door until she hit the button in her car and it didn’t start.

She did it again and nothing.

The car was beeping at her and she looked down at the message on the dash telling her she needed her key.

She’d left her purse in the house.

“Where are you going, Mommy?”

“I forgot my purse,” she said, getting out and jogging back in, yanking her purse off the counter and returning to the car.

They were finally on their way with her glancing at the clock.

She should be able to get to the office a little after eight. One of her staff would have to open, but at least she’d beat her patients.

Until the red flashing lights came on in her review mirror.

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