Page 40 of Loyal
“Real mature, Loyal, ignoring your girlfriend’s daughter. How do you think my mom will react when she finds out?”
I tip my head back and sigh.
Goddammit.
Out of all the days, it just had to be today. The prospect pissed me off, thinking he’s a hotshot. I swear I saw Savage contemplate taking him out right there in the middle of the clubhouse as he ran his mouth. Then I decided to stop by a coffee shop to get a pick-me-up, only for a toddler with a drink the size of its head to run into me, covering me in sticky shit. To top it off, a car almost hit me on the way home when they turned on red even though I was coming.
“Hello, are you ignoring me now?” Farrah whines, snapping her fingers.
I know I should try and calm down. Keep my cool, but fuck it. She wants to play games, let’s fucking play.
I turn toward her and glare. “Honestly, Farrah, yes. This is how I’m going to be. I don’t want to talk to you or be around you without your mom present.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. The last thing I want is for you to run to your mother with some lie to try and create problems. If I’m never alone with you, that can’t happen. It shouldn’t have to be this way, but you made it this way. So no, I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “How mature Loyal. Really mature.”
“Call it whatever you want. Now if you’ll excuse me.” I turn away and take another step toward the house.
“See, this is why it’s never going to work out between you and my mom. She needs a real man. One who’s her age and understands that family is important.”
My jaw clenches as I turn toward her. “What, like your dad?”
Triumph flashes across her face. “Exactly like my dad.”
“Yeah, because he’s such a great guy, right? Question, did he ever get her flowers? Do you remember him asking about her day? Kissing her in the kitchen just because? Anything?”
Uncertainty crosses her face but it passes. “My dad’s the best.”
“I’m sure he is, but he wasn’t to your mom. She had never had flowers from someone before me, Farrah. Flowers. Here’s a lesson for you: flowers are the bare fucking minimum. If a guy doesn’t give you flowers, then he’s not worth it. Did you know that he forgot their anniversary once? Like straight up said fuck you and didn’t come home even after she pointed it out? That’s not the kind of relationship that screams hashtag goals.”
“There is more to a relationship than flowers and remembering dates,” she tosses back.
“Exactly. Like love and respect. Think about it, Farrah. They had you when they were sixteen. Could you imagine marrying the guy you dated right now? Or hell, last year? Could you imagine being forced into marrying someone because you had a baby and then having to spend the rest of your life with them because others said you had to? Like seriously, could you imagine marrying your high school boyfriend?”
“This isn’t about me,” she grits out.
“Exactly. It’s about your mother and me, but you’re making it all about you. Congratulations. You have some self-awareness as it turns out. Let me ask you one last question. Does your mother deserve how you have been treating her? I mean, you don’t like when she tells you what to do, right? She’s your mother, though, so you listen. How do you think it is making her feel to have you treating her like shit every single day because she chose to leave an unhappy situation? It doesn’t matter if your mother is with me or alone, she will never get back with your father. He made sure of that when he disrespected her and neglected her for the decade they were married. That’s not even counting the years they dated before that. So is it worth hurting your mother over and over again in order to get your way in the end?”
I’m heaving. I’m so angry. Still, I haven’t moved closer to her. The entire neighborhood is probably listening at this point.
“She belongs with my dad,” she says lower, unsure.
“Who says that? Your father? He doesn’t love your mother, Farrah. Love isn’t possessive the way he is. It’s protective. He doesn’t care about your mother or her happiness. All he cares about is that she is no longer his. She doesn’t belong with your father. She made that clear when she divorced him. She left him because she wasn’t happy. I only wish you could see that,” I remind her.
“And what, you’re better?” she scoffs. “As soon as she gets old and the fun dies, you’ll walk away.”
“Bullshit. I’ll love Sami when she’s got gray hair and her hands don’t work right. I’ll love her wrinkles and all. That’s the difference between who you think I am and who I actually am. I came into this relationship with eyes wide open and was willing to make it work despite the age gap. Because age doesn’t matter between two consenting adults who find happiness with each other. Who love one another,” I snap.
She stands on the curb, mouth open in disbelief.
“Now if that’s all, I’ve had a really shitty day and would like to go in and change. That is unless you aren’t done harassing me yet?”
She shuts her mouth and nods.
Turning, I take another step forward to my house but turn back toward her.
