Page 2 of Unthinkable

Her blonde hair is straight, not unruly like Immie’s wayward locks, her lips are twisted, and her hands are balled into tight fists resting on her hips. We stare back at one another with equal annoyance.

Contempt encompasses every feature on her face. The veins on her slender neck protrude, her complexion red, and her eyes filled with a seething hatred.

“Welcome home, Daddy,” Immie declares, bringing my attention back to her. She rushes into my arms, and I pull her against me, inhaling her vanilla scent. “I missed you.” I hear the smile in her tone.

My shoulders fall. “Missed you too.” I kiss the top of her head and relax against her.

This is home.

Loud clapping pulls me from our embrace.

“Welcome fucking home, Daddy?” Amanda sneers, and Immie flinches, setting my teeth on edge.

Jesus, why does my wife always have to be such a bitch?

“Great. Now that you’re home, I want to be taken out tonight. I have a life, for God’s sake. I’m only thirty, not dead. I shouldn’t have to babysit your child every fucking night of my miserable existence.”

Fury engulfs me, but somehow, for Immie’s sake, I rein it in. She stares up at me with innocence shining in her baby blues.

She’s stunning.

“You need to get changed. You’re not coming with me like that.” Amanda gestures up and down my body with her finger, and I glance down. My jeans are torn at the knees, my combat boots are open, and my T-shirt has grease on it from the motorcycle I fixed to ride home on.

Does Amanda really think I’m about to spend the night out on the town drinking with her friends when I’ve been away from home for so long? Does she really not know me at all?

I fix her with a pointed stare. “We’ll talk about this later.”

A scoff leaves her, and she begins to pick at her nails. “Oh, we will, will we? The great Jensen Marino has spoken again. Well, newsflash, Jensen, you need to start listening to me, and so does she.” She waves her hand toward Immie, who stiffens in my arms.

I clench my teeth and glare at Amanda, but she ignores it.

“Your daughter just threw a plate at the wall. It almost hit me.” She tilts her head toward Immie. A familiar, pitiful mask slips over her face, one I’ve become accustomed to over the years. She pouts and her eyes become glassy.

Which usually results in her having a spending spree at the mall because I can’t deal with her level of neediness when she feels sorry for herself.

A disgruntled huff leaves Immie, and she stiffens, but she remains tucked under my arm, clinging to me as if seeking refuge. Like the night I discovered her. I glide my hand up and down her side, hoping to reassure her with my touch.

All the while, I narrow my eyes in on Amanda. She’s gunning for an argument. She shifts from side to side and rolls her lip into her mouth, as if preparing her next words to hit harder than the last, but I refuse to give the reaction she wants. Not today. Today was meant to be a joyous day. A day I was welcomed home with open arms, and as of yet, only Immie has done so.

“I’m sure it was an accident,” I state, hoping to brush off the drama.

Amanda’s mouth drops open. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me? She’s a spoiled little brat who needs to be put in her place.”

My spine bolts straight, and Immie pulls away to assess me, concern swimming in her eyes. “Go to your room,” I say. “Now.” I lift my chin toward the door, and she nods.

She’s filled out, and her hips have become shapely. I give myself a mental reprimand not to look too deep. She might be eighteen now, but she’s off-limits.

“That’s the problem,” Amanda spits out as soon as the door closes behind Immie. She points at the door. “The way you look at her.”

I turn to her, crooking an eyebrow. “And how do I look at her?”

“Like she’s your entire world.” There’s snark to her tone and a bite of jealousy.

Jesus, some things never change. If anything, they’ve become worse.

“That’s because she is.” Without giving her any more attention, I head out of the room.

If Amanda isn’t pleased to see me, I’d rather be around someone who is.