Page 134 of All the Forbidden Things
I kiss her ear and her cheeks and jaw and, when I find her mouth, I kiss that too.
“We knew we were gonna have all this shit to deal with, we just need to stay strong and wade through it. I can’t stand seeing you fall apart like this every time Whitney pulls one of her stunts. You’re the bravest person I know, Billie Wild, and I know for a fact Whitney Federov is no match for you.”
“She’s a bitch, and I hate her,” she mumbles into my chest.
“I know, but we’ll be rid of her soon, then we can buy our house in the country and fill it with brothers and sisters for Layla. Horses, chickens, and alpacas. All of the things, Bamm. We’ll have them all.”
“Pygmy goats?”
“If you want pygmy goats, we’ll get a dozen of them.”
She tilts her tear-stained face up towards me and smiles. And I know right then I want to give this girl the world. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
“Whatever you want, Bamm, if I can make it happen, you can have it.”
It’s on the very tip of my tongue to tell her that I love her, but a knock at the door interrupts the moment so I settle for dropping a soft kiss to her mouth.
I stare at the floor,trying to think, to process exactly what it is I’ve just seen up on the screen in Whitney’s lawyer's office.
Drawing a deep breath in through my nose, I let it out slowly through my mouth and brace myself to take the images in again.
Me.
Me lying on my bed.
One arm across my torso, my hand on my chest. My other arm above my head.
A bottle of Forty-Three lying on its side next to me.
Layla in her cot.
The screen turns blue before a video starts to play.
The blood pumping around my body turns so cold, tiny shards of ice form, cutting and tearing at my veins, shredding my heart as Layla’s shrill cry echoes around the otherwise silent office.
My muscles are numb. I can’t move. So I just stare at the screen, watch the vision of the camera panning around the room. Me, passed out on the bed, bottle of alcohol lying on its side next to me, Layla’s hungry cries coming from her cot. And then it zooms in on Layla, her face pink and angry, tears coating her cheeks and clinging to her lashes, and that’s when I lose it.
I turn my head—nothing else, just my head—towards Whitney. My mouth’s dry and I have to clear my throat before I can talk.
“You left her there?”
Whitney’s chin tilts up as her glacial green eyes meet mine. Her brows raise, and her fake smile freezes on her lips.
“Excuse me?”
“She’s crying, Whitney. She’s crying her hungry cry, you made your video, and instead of taking her and feeding her, you just left her there, hungry and crying.”
Whitney’s eyes slice towards her lawyer, Christian Waters.
“Ms Federov wasn’t responsible for this video, but we’ve been assured that almost as soon as it was taken, you woke up.”
I keep my eyes pinned to Whit’s as I speak, nodding as I do so. “I’m assuming the video is meant to imply that I’m passed out drunk, not that what you’re seeing is a single dad, passed out from exhaustion, and yet, whoever took it, never, at any time thought Layla should've been removed from that situation?”
“Mr Young, I think you’re missing the point—”
I bite back a bitter laugh. “Oh, Mr Waters, I think my point has been very clearly made,” I continue to nod, my eyes still burning a path in Whitney’s direction. “So, this is it,thisis your new accusation?” Diksha, the best family law counsel money can buy, asks.
Finally tearing my eyes from Whitney’s smirk, I watch as my lawyer stands and leans her arse against Christian Water’s desk so that she’s facing Whitney.
