Page 43 of Falling for Her
He chuckles, “I’m sorry, angel, my mind just–”
I cut him off, shocking him as I snap, “No, you just tried accusing me of using your mother to get to you like I knew you when we met, heck you never even told me about the club, never told me you were a part of it. You kept a whole identity from me when you know every little detail of my life,” he winces and my anger boils over as I say sarcastically, “Yeah imagine finding out your boyfriend’s mother, the man you have fallen madly in love with, is an old lady and that he’s most likely slept with several women within said club and suddenly don’t feel good enough for him.” I shake my head and shove past him, and he sighs, “Essy,” but allowing my hormones to take over, I snap, “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out, liar!” before I round the counter and storm into the kitchen and slam the door behind me but forgetting it’s a swing door.
Quickly, I jump out of the way as it flies back so it doesn’t smack me in the back. Instead, it hits the wall, and I curse as Damian chuckles but quickly clears his throat and calls, “I’m only leaving because I know I messed up, and you need time to cool down especially when you realize you’ve finally said those three little words to me but more out of anger,” my mouth parts as I freeze and he continues, “For what it’s worth, angel, I love you too, and I’m sorry I came to the wrong conclusion.”
I hear his footsteps before the door opens and closes, and my tears fall as my breathing escalates.
Great. I wanted the first time we declared our love to be special, but it was ruined because he made assumptions despite knowing me well.
I was willing to let go about not knowing his past. He doesn’t wear those leather cuts, disappear throughout the night, or leave the room to answer calls. Even his best friend, who I now realize is part of the club, doesn’t wear his cut and calls him brother.
His son even calls my boyfriend Joke-Joke, which I’m guessing was his road name.
He’s obviously decided to break ties with his old life, and I could respect him not telling me until he was ready, but to accuse me of being someone I’m not…
I sniffle and walk to the staff bathroom before placing my palms on the counter as my eyes go to the stick with two lines from this morning, and sobs wrack my body.
When Damian walked into the bakery, I was so scared, but everything in me relaxed because I knew he’d make everything better. He didn’t, though. Instead, I was accused of using him, and now I feel lost.
I think I need a break…
Sniffling, I grab my phone out of my apron. I ignore the photo of Damian and Aiden and bring up my dad’s number before calling.
“Hey, sweetheart,” my dad answers, and I sob, “Daddy…”
Chapter 17
Jokester – Two Weeks Later
Itapmylegas the phone rings, and uncertainty fills me the longer she doesn’t answer. I shouldn’t have fucking gone off on Essy. I should have spoken to her rationally instead of accusing her of shit that I knew deep down wasn’t true.
I let my anger and insecurities take over because I’m a prick.
“Hey, this is Esmerelda, I can’t….”
I hang up and drop my phone on my glass coffee table, and curse, “Fuck’s sake!” dropping my head in my hands.
Two weeks, fucking two weeks, and I feel like I can’t breathe. She hasn’t answered my calls and every time I’ve gone into the bakery, she’s conveniently walking into the back refusing to allow me through.
I know I messed up, but two weeks of no contact is not fucking okay.
Shaking my head, I grab my phone again and bring up Adam’s number.
“Still not speaking to you?” he answers after the fifth ring, and I sigh and return, “No, she fucking isn’t, and I miss her…”
He hums. Adam is a great person and an even better father. He loves his kids more than anything in this world, fuck, he even hasn’t allowed his new girlfriend to meet them yet, wanting to make sure she’ll be around for the long run.
“I don’t know what else I can do,” I admit, “Even now, her phone has just gone to voicemail. I need your help, Adam.”
He sighs, and I swallow hard. I get it, she’s his daughter, but he knows I love her, and he knows I make her happy.
“She’s at Culinary school today, ten minutes away from campus,” he admits after a few moments of silence, and I relax knowing where it is.
I picked her up outside of The Culinary Institute of Pennsylvania a couple of months ago, and I know she’s due to graduate soon.
He continues, “She finishes at four thirty, so you’ve got plenty of time, and she’s supposed to be catching the bus. I have her car while mine is in the shop, but uh, Damian, there’s more to why she’s so upset. That day in the bakery, she called me in tears.”
I furrow my brows, sit up straight, and ask, “What is it?”
