Page 41 of Heal For Me

“I’m not Parker. Like, you know I’m not actually your child, right? I’m your fiancée. I don’t need you checking in on my schoolwork like you’re my dad, because you’re not.”

Heat radiates between us, but not the kind I’m used to. It’s been a while since we’ve argued, especially like this.

“Don’t act like a child and I won’t treat you like one.”

My eyes widen. “Act like a child? Please. I can’t remember the last time I got to act like a child. I’m sorry I didn’t get ahold of my school, but you have no right to get after me about it.” I shove my plate away and reach for my crutches. “There are ways to talk to people, especially the ones you love, and that’s not it. Come find me when you’ve removed the stick from your ass, Dad.”

An argument like that is one I would expect from Jethro, not Ash. In fact, it sounds so much like Uncle Jet that I pull out my phone once I get to the couch and fire off a text to him.

Me: Dod you tell Ash ot bitch at me about schoolwork?

Uncle Jet: Excuse me?

Uncle Jet: But no, should I have?

Uncle Jet: Stop fucking cussing.

Me: I’m pissed and my fingers aren’t working dast enough. It’s eight am and he just got afterme about ducking homework. Felt like I was having a conversation with younso thought I’d ask.

Me: I can’t decide which of you is the bigger asshole sometimes.

Uncle Jet: Good morning to you too. How is your knee?

Me: Yeah, fine, tha ks. When are you coming home?

Uncle Jet: You’re that mad at him that you’d rather stay with me?

Me: No. Just curious.

Uncle Jet: You really need to work on your texting abilities.

Me: Yeah yeah I’ve been tokd.

Uncle Jet: But soon. What I was here for turned out to be a dead end. End of the week at most.

Me: Great. Stay safe.

Uncle Jet: You too.

Uncle Jet: And do your homework.

Me: You’re the worst ever. Bye.

I don’t see Ash for a lot longer than I expected and then when I do, he is shirtless and wet. Dickhead. He knows I can’t stay mad at him when he looks the way he does. I will certainly try though.

“Hi.” His breath is heavier than normal, which tells me it’s not water dripping down his chest, it’s sweat. You’d think that would be a turn off—it’s not.

I ignore him by slowly flipping through a random magazine I grabbed as I heard him on the steps.

“I didn’t know you could read Italian.”

Focusing on the page, I frown when I can read the words because they aren’t Italian. I shoot him a glare.

He slaps the small towel in his hands over his shoulder and chuckles. When he takes his seat at the end of the couch opposite of me, I battle with being disappointed he’s not closer and happy he’s not. “I’m sorry for getting after you this morning, baby.”

“Why did you?” I hate that my voice sounds so small.

His gray eyes flick away, and his eyebrows bunch. “I have a lot on my mind, but none of that is your fault, babygirl, so I am sorry I took it out on you.”

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