Page 56 of Doughn't Let Me Go

That one fed the anger.

And finally, when I wouldn’t let her buy her own groceries “like I promised,” she broke and called me an ass in the middle of the grocery store.

Thankfully Kyrie was knocked out cold on the ride home. All the excitement of the store and stuffing herself silly on pancakes made her fall fast asleep.

The moment she was out, Dory turned on me, going on and on about what a controlling dick I am the whole way. She thinks I’m just throwing my money around and showing off, thinks I’m just trying to take care of her because of ourtransgression.

Every time she spit the word at me, vomit would rise in the back of my throat and make me regret ever using it.

Now she glares at me from the other end of the counter, the argument still not over. “Inallaspects of my life?”

God, I wish.“No, but in this one? Yes. You’re driving aroundmyprecious cargo. You need something reliable.”

“My car is reliable. It’s never once broken down on me.”

I don’t know how exactly, but I can tell she’s lying. “Lie. You owe me.”

She knows right away what I’m referring to—our game of Truth or Lie.

“Asshole,” she mutters, her voice barely audible.

My chest rumbles with a sardonic laugh. “I’ve heard worse.”

“Oh, I can do worse.”

She grabs a few boxes from the reusable shopping bag and turns to the pantry.

I slide up behind her, close but not touching.

I found myself doing the same thing in the store. I’d hover, but I’d never touch.

I really wanted to touch.

“Oh, Doris, I am well aware.” My voice is low. Thick.

I know it affects her, me using her full name.

She growls, hating it as much as I do.

But I have to. It’s the only way I can keep things professional. I like the way Dory rolls off my tongue way too much. I can’t keep using it.

She steps away from me, farther into the pantry.

If I wasn’t so worried about my daughter bouncing her way into the kitchen at any moment, I’d follow Dory in and lock us both inside until we’d gotten whatever this is out of our system.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

“Where do these go?”

Her innocent question pulls me from the haze.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I never really got around to organizing, so you can pick and we’ll all just roll with it.”

“You should get some baskets in here and label them, make it easier to just grab and go.”

“That’s fine. Do whatever will make things easiest for you.”

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