Page 43 of Where Love Lies

“Does this family mean so little to you that you think you can run around doing trashy things like this?” he shouts, while Paige looks the other way.

“Answer me!” He grabs her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. Her face turns red, eyes welling with tears.

“Heston, let her go!” I hiss, shocked he would ever dare touch her.

Paige grabs him by the wrist and shoves out of his hold.

“You’re not my father!” Turning, she stomps up the stairs, and I look at Heston, wondering what the hell he was thinking.

“You don’t have the right to put your hands on her.” My voice cracks with emotion, the familiar ache in my chest from when I was with Cam, rearing its dark head.

“Someone needs to teach that kid discipline. You obviously don’t.” He raises a brow, accusing me of not punishing her to his standards. “Think about that,” he clips before opening the front door and slamming it behind him.

Hot tears slide down my cheeks. I knew Heston had a temper—we all do—but his is darker, more ominous, and seems to peeking its head out of the shadows more and more.

* * *

Feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I climb the stairs with a heavy heart. I knock on Paige’s door then open it. She’s sprawled across her bed, lying on her stomach, her feet kicked up behind her. Her face red, eyes glossy, she stares at her phone, ignoring me. Closing the door behind me, I step over a pile of clothes and sit at the end of her bed. The moon filters through the curtains, lighting up the room in glowing streaks. I place my hand on her back, her shirt damp with sweat, the smell of weed reeking from her clothes. I want to ground her, yell at her some more, until we both break down and talk about it, but Heston grabbing her like that…I don’t know what to say or do.

“Babe, talk to me.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I’m sorry about what Heston did. It wasn’t right.”

“You think?” She sniffles, and I can’t help but wonder what my mother would have done if she’d caught me smoking weed at thirteen. Maybe she’d have beat my ass. Then again, she was the chill artsy type and would probably join in. It’s hard to tell what she’d do.

“Whose weed was it? Where did you two get it?”

“She had it. I don’t know.”

“Okay, well that’s a big no. You don’t know this girl well enough to take drugs from her. What if it was laced with something?”

“We got it from a guy on the next block, so she didn’t really know either.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know who she got it from?” My voice rises, catching her in a lie.

“I panicked! I didn’t want her to get in trouble.”

My brows hit my hairline. Two girls out causing trouble and experimenting together. “So, who is this guy?”

“I don’t know, just some guy!” She sucks in a sharp breath, her tone on the edge of hysterical.

Scooting back, she sits up, wraps her arms around her knees, and rests her chin on top of them.

“And I know Layla. I trust her.” She stares blankly ahead. “I talk to her every day, whether it be on the phone or at her house.” I guess I’ve been so deep in mine and Heston’s quarrels, I didn’t even know about her and Layla’s friendship together.

I reach for her, grab her shoulders, and pull her into my lap. My fingers undoing her ribbons, then redoing her Dutch braids.

“You’re reaching that age where you want to do things—”

“Mom, that’s not—”

“Let me finish. What I’m saying is, we aren’t always going to see eye to eye, but I want you to tell me things, to talk to me, to promise to never hate me when I have to be strict with you.” I want to be her friend, but I have to be her mom first. It’s going to be hard to define that line. But if she’s not honest with me, I can’t protect her.

“Mom, I would never hate you,” she mumbles, as if the notion is ridiculous. “Are you disappointed in me?” she asks.

My head instantly shakes no before I can form the words.

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