Page 6 of Where Love Lies

Holding her by the shoulders, I move back to get a good look at the stitches in her face.

“I’m nervous it’ll scar.” She raises her fingers, barely touching the black string snaking through her porcelain skin.

“Nah, you’re young. It’ll bounce back in no time.” Cam’s cold shadow envelopes my body before he fills the doorway. Tension thickens. My arms drop from Paige’s shoulders. I’m sure he’ll have something horrible to say about the house. I murmur to Paige, “There are two rooms upstairs. Pick the one you want. I’ll use the other for my studio.”

“Sweet,” she says, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Studio?” Cam scoffs, before stepping completely into the house. His square shoulders and lanky six-foot height take over the foyer, causing an unsettling energy to raise the hairs on my arms. I feel like a deer watching a hunter enter its territory. Even though the intruder is on your land, a place you call home, you’re the one who has to tread lightly. “It must be nice living off dead mommy’s money, huh? Now you don’t have to get a real job.” His beady dark eyes stab into me. Sourness swirls in the pit of my stomach. He always considered my pottery trash, demanding I get a real job with a steady paycheck. I never did. Moving in with my mother was a different pace, she encouraged my creative side and didn’t care about a steady income. Being a starving artist is part of the career. Like actors not having enough sleep, or family time. It’s a sacrifice to do what you love.

“Thanks for dropping her off.” Grabbing the door, I wave my hand, gesturing for him leave. We’re not married anymore. I don’t have to put up with his condescending shit.

“Living in a place like this, don’t think you’re going to get another dime out of me.” He starts to leave, and I still my nostrils flaring with rage . He’s such a dick. I don’t know how I was with him for so long and never saw how ugly he truly is until we divorced.

“You’d have to pay fucking child support for me to raise it, Cam,” I snap.

Now on the other side of the doorway he glares back at me, his jaw clenched. I slam the door in his face before he can say another shitty thing to me.

Asshole.

Sliding the lock into place, I drop my head to the door, taking a deep breath. Cam unravels me. One look at his face, and I’m back to the many times he was mad, violent, or abusively drunk. No matter how hard I try to forget that part of my life, it’s always lingering, hiding in the shadows of my mind.

I take my time going up the stairs to see which room Paige chose. Cam’s truck revs, rumbling through the neighborhood, sounding like a pissed-off drunk teenager on a joy ride. I close my eyes, my teeth clenched, trying to calm my anxiety. I remind myself he’s not my problem anymore, but it does no good. The impression he’s imprinted on Paige and me in our new safe heaven is not the first impression I was hoping to make.

One box has been moved from the landing, but I still have to maneuver around the rest she left behind. Something clatters against the floor, and I follow the noise, finding Paige inside the room on the left side of the house, above my room downstairs.

“Nice choice,” I say, entering the room.

“Yeah, I like the view.” She points to the window. Soft sunlight streams into the room, lighting the space in a beautiful glow. The floor creaks beneath my weight as I move to take a peek outside. The neighborhood comes into view beneath a few swaying branches. It is nice. This house is nice. Everything about the place is nice. I can’t wait to make it ours.

Walking out of her room, I stop at the doorway and glance over my shoulder at Paige as she jerks her blankets free from a plastic bag. “What do you think of the place?” I ask as I turn to face her. She plops the comforter on her lap and looks around the room with curious eyes.

“I mean, it’s a lot bigger than our last place.” She’s right about that: the kitchen and living room alone are bigger than the spread we had before. The kitchen was so close you could cook while watch TV on the couch. Ok, not really, but it was small.

“Even with all our stuff, it feels empty.” Looking up at me her brows raise with awed energy from the fact she’s never been in a place this nice or big. This house is big enough to actually to do something with, and I have zero experience with decorating. Even when I had a home with Cam, my skills were a perfect example of Pinterest epic fails from one room to the next.

“You still mad at me for making us move out here?” I chew on the inside of my cheek, waiting for her to reply.

Huffing, she opens the bag wider and finds it empty. Shoving it to the side, she stares at it in thought.

“I don’t know, just so much is happening. Grandma, the wreck, moving. The thought of being the new kid at school is just too much to think about right now.” There’s a lot of weight hanging in her words. She’s been through a lot lately, but Paige is stronger than she thinks. She underestimates how much she can handle. She’ll fit in here just as well as she did at her old school.

“Give it some time. You’ll make new friends.”

Her eyes rise, narrowing at me in irritation. I get it; she doesn’t want to make new friends. But if I’m trying, she can too.

“I’m hoping to finish unpacking at least one room tonight. Holler if you need me.” I tap my nails on the doorframe and turn to walk away when she says, “Um…can we order pizza?” She doesn’t look up from digging in a box, a stray hair that escaped her braid falling into her face.

“I swear, you’re going to turn into pizza as much as you eat it, child.” When I ate pizza at her age, my face would break out so bad, but her skin is always clear, and I don’t think she’d care if it did cause acne.

Not used to stairs, I hold onto the banister. Bickering male voices make me stop at the second to last step. Shadows move about on the other side of the blurred glass.

Grabbing the knob, I open the door to two men. They both jerk forward, plastering smiles on their faces.

“Hi!” they say in unison.

My eyes fall to the plant in the guy on the left’s arms, then to the bottle of red wine in the other man’s hand.

“We’re your neighbors.” The man holding the wine points to a house behind him. The one with the blue door.

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