Page 62 of Vetted for Vengeance
Every instinct in my body screams not to leave. To scoop up the puppies, to sit beside Figgy all night, to watch every breath until the last one is born.
But instead I join Rhys by the back door and sneak out toward his house.
“And so you've met my parents,” I say.
I can't think of a worse time or place.
Or worse parents.
“I have,” he agrees calmly.
“Sorry about that.”
“I won't return the gesture,” he replies. “You won't ever meet my parents.”
I instantly want to ask if they're dead.
Did he kill them?
Did they make him into someone who could?
“I left home at eighteen because I was so fed up with…” I trail off.
Fed up with what?
Being invisible.
They were always talking about me. Bragging about me. Planning things for me.
But they never actually saw me.
“Me too,” Rhys says simply.
I nod and let the subject drop.
“I want to eat dinner at your giant dining table knowing they're sitting on the other side of the car park,” I grin. “They're doing all this because they want to be on TV, so they can tell the world how much they love me. How proud they are.”
“No chance,” Rhys growls, that dangerous flash in his eyes.
“Thank you.”
I have an odd urge to throw socks at him again, but we haven't eaten yet and I want my silent victory.
As we get settled into cooking, the tension slowly drains away.
Rhys moves around the kitchen like he owns every inch of it, which, technically, he does. The counters gleam. The knives are lined up like surgical instruments.
He reaches across me for a knife he definitely doesn't need.
I bump his hip reaching for a plate I don’t need.
It's innocent.
Flirty.
Warm.
The kind of normal I never thought I'd get to have.
