Page 331 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
It’s for my mother.
I’m sorry, Mom. I tried. I really tried not to love Dollie so much. But I’m fucking broken. I can’t live without her, and if I do live through this, she’s fucking mine.
A final moan comes from across the hall, reminding me that this might not be so easy. Because she’s already chosen him, already shut me out.
How could she do that?
After everything, how could she seriously choose him over me?
No answer comes, then everything goes dark.
CHAPTER 74
Dollie—present day
“Can we turn this off?” I ask Shane about the song he has on repeat.
Between the song and Bubbles acting like a lunatic, barking every second, spinning with all the energy in the world, running into the reading room, then returning with so much disappointment when I don’t follow her, I can’t take it.
Gripping her by the collar, I lead her to the back door. She jumps around, thrashing in my hold until I manage to get the door shut with her locked on the other side of the glass.
She howls, big paws on the handle, trying to get back in.
I collect her sock and toss it in the washing machine, not having it in me to part with anything I don’t need to.
Shane’s finger prods the button on the side of his phone, and the music gets louder, blocking her out.
“Really?”
“I’m leaving in like two minutes.” He sits at the breakfast table, dressed like a typical garage worker. Cereal he didn’t buy dripping down his chin. Those colorful things remind me of Ambrose.
Ambrose hates this song.
“He’s obviously not here, Shane,” I say, a forceful finger heading to his phone on the table. “We don’t have to have this on repeat.”
He pulls the device back before I can touch it, and that song about the days going faster continues.
“You don’t get to touch my phone without my permission, remember.” He shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, then talks with it full. “He could be around here somewhere.”
I glance at the secret entry point through which I came last night. The joining is so seamless, I can barely make it out, yet I know exactly where it is, hidden in the wall directly behind Shane.
He restarts the song, knowing full well how much Ambrose hates it—knowing why he hates it.
The bags under Shane’s eyes hold as much information as Mom’s diary because he’d stayed up practically all night reading it, claiming he couldn’t sleep.
Mom guessed why this song always raised the hairs on Ambrose’s neck. Why his breathing changed and his spine straightened every time he heard the first beat…
It was playing while he was assaulted.
“Can you just stop this song?” I ask, taking a quick glance at the clock.
If Shane doesn’t leave soon, he’ll be late for work.
“Why are you watching the time?”
“I don’t want you to be late.” Again, I’m pacifying.
“Yeah, I should get going.” With a huff, he turns off his song and stands. “You can take care of this, right?” He points to his bowl and the mess of splattered milk he’s made around it.
