So Toxic(Bad Boy Next Door Book 4)(32)

He shovels the last of the mushy macaroni into his mouth until his cheeks puff out like a chipmunk. He holds his hand over his mouth as he chews. His brows knit and his eyes tear.

I throw my hands up. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”





TEN





Patterns.

My life is a series of patterns.

Get up. Shower. Check for missed calls. Clean house. Look at my texts. Send out résumés.

All day—every day, I wait for some kind of communication from Tyson. But it never happens.

When he’s with me, he’s really with me. No checking his phone. No channel surfing. No hanging out in his room. He’s present and accounted for.

But if he’s not with me, it’s like he’s a ghost. I’ve spent two weeks wondering if he ever thinks about me when he’s not actually looking at me.

It’s a form of slow torture.

The vinyl letters across my bathroom mirror say Believe in miracles. Believe in yourself.

The print hanging on the wall behind me says Be your best self. Find the silver lining. Expect greatness. Follow that dream. Love deeply. Tomorrow holds magic that has yet to be released.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

I lean across the counter and stare into my reflection. “You are an idiot. You need to stop worrying about what Tyson Masters is thinking and start planning your future. You aren’t going to live here forever…probably not for long at all.”

Real truths. That’s what I need. Hard truths.

I should make a wall-hanging that says things like Don’t be pathetic. Say no to stupidity. You won’t die, so suck it up and press on.

Oh yeah. Let’s not forget…

Self-pity is for pussies.

I’m not a pussy.

The gauntlet I’ve traversed so far in life has wrought a strong woman.

I just need to be that woman.

I don’t need Tyson Masters. I don’t need anyone.

My phone vibrates. I snatch it up and check the screen.

It’s him.

My heart thumps a little faster.

Meet me at the courthouse at 2 PM, please.

Suddenly, I weigh ten pounds and am almost floating.

This is it. We’re getting married.

Oh, crap. What do I wear? How have I not prepared for this?

Tearing into my closet, I throw unsuitable outfits to the floor and lay the ones that might work onto the dais in the middle of the giant space.

I settle on a long ecru handkerchief style skirt with a matching peasant top. Sandals complete the outfit. I finish applying my lip-gloss as the alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me I need to leave in five minutes.




Tyson stands outside the front doors of the courthouse. His smile is tight and his brow wrinkled.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. I get Caden for a while this afternoon. His aunt is here to fill out some paperwork or something. She said I could meet her.”

A weight drops into my stomach.

Guess we aren’t getting married.

It’s fine. I really don’t want to be married all that much anyway.

Shaking off my momentary bout of stupidity, I lay my hand on his arm. “That’s great. But why the face?”

He quirks a brow. “What do you mean?”

“You look like you ate a bad apple.”

“The woman refuses to let me take him home for a little while. And she says I can only visit him if I’m supervised. Like I’d ever hurt him or let anything happen to him. It pisses me the fuck off.”

“I’m here. I can supervise.”

He lets out a sigh. “Yeah, that’s why I texted to start with. But then Auntie Angela says that she’d rather it be a close relative. So, my mother is on her way.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll head on home.” I turn to go.

Ty takes my elbow, stopping me. “Wait. I thought you might want to meet him. You’ll love him. He’s amazing. Plus, I need the buffer.”

“Buffer?”

“Between me and Mother.”

“Oh. Yeah. I almost forgot.”

He pushes his fingers through his hair. “The woman is impossible.”

“Well, at least you have a mom. And no matter how bad she might be, she loves you. Right?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know that she’s capable of love.”

His expression makes my heart hurt for him.

My whole childhood, I wanted my biological mother. My borrowed mothers always seemed to find me a burden. But to have a mother, your very own mother, and think she doesn’t love you? That has to be horrible.

At least I can tell myself that my real mother must have loved me. That whatever reason she had for giving up on taking care of me was bound to be driven by her desire to give me a better life. I take comfort in that—whether or not it’s really true.

I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze him tightly. At first, he seems at a loss, just standing there. But after a moment, he embraces me too, laying a soft kiss on the top of my head.