All Chapters of Daddies Taste Better : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Silence choked off whatever bullshit he was about to spit next. I just kept walking. Every step sent fresh spikes through my cracked ribs, my fucked-up shoulder, and the goddamn staples holding my scalp together. When I finally hit the bedroom door, I rammed it open with my good shoulder and staggered inside. Then I kicked the fucker shut hard enough that the latch snapped like a promise. The room was dim, curtains still drawn tight. I didn’t bother with the light. No way in hell did I want to catch my reflection in that mirror across from the bed—didn’t want to see the walking disaster of bandages, purple bruises, and dead-eyed exhaustion staring back. So I limped straight to the nightstand. My good hand shook like a junkie’s as I fumbled the drawer open. Fingers finally closed around the orange bottle of oxycodone. Label worn to shit, corners peeling, but the pills inside still rattled like loose change. I shook two into my palm… paused… then shook out a third. Fuck it. I neede

We stayed like that for a long moment—his hand on my face, my cheek pressed to his palm, breathing each other’s air in the narrow space between us. His thumb kept moving and I let myself lean into it harder, closing my eyes for just a second because looking at him hurt too much and not looking at him hurt worse. Eventually his thumb stilled and his hand slid down to cup the side of my neck, thumb resting against my pulse point. “What happened?” he asked quietly, voice gentle. I opened my eyes, met his gaze, and felt the familiar twist of irritation flare up again. “You should stop acting like someone hasn’t already filled you in,” I said. “Mrs. Harlan’s nurse probably talked to you. The doctor probably talked to you. Even the security. You’ve probably got a full report typed up somewhere with bullet points and timestamps. So don’t pretend you don’t know.” He didn’t speak nor pull away for some moments and just kept his hand on my neck, thumb still resting over my pulse, feeling

MIA❁✿❀I was sitting at the bar on the second of January, already four whiskeys in, and I still couldn’t shake the image of that empty fucking apartment from my skull. She didn’t even leave a note.Not a text.Not a “fuck you, I’m out.”Just… nothing.And yeah, I knew she might have been pissed. I knew it was about time she moved. I knew she felt cornered, suffocated, like I was the one holding the bars instead of the key. But did she have to steal from me? Did she have to take the emergency cash from the coffee can under the sink, the twenty I always kept folded in my sock drawer, the fucking necklace Mom gave me when I turned sixteen—that I hadn’t worn in years because she wasn’t exactly a good mother but still kept in my jewelry box like it was proof she cared even a little other than strangers sharing DNA?She took it.She took the necklace.The bar was half-dead with post-holiday slump, the kind where the decorations look tired and the jukebox is playing songs nobody asked for.

I shifted my weight, felt the cold seep through my soles and up my calves. “I can’t leave my car behind,” I told him, voice coming out flatter than I intended, like I was stating a fact instead of making an excuse. “I’ll follow you.” He blinked, then let out a small, surprised huff that wasn’t quite a laugh. “But we’re supposed to walk in together.” The “supposed to” landed like a small stone in still water. And I just stared at him. “Okay, okay. Do what you want to do.” He closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side. I watched him climb in, watched the Jeep’s taillights flare red when he started the engine, watched him pull out slowly, waiting for me to fall in behind. I got back in Betsy. Started her up and I pulled out after him—close enough not to lose his taillights, far enough that I could pretend I wasn’t following him at all if I needed to lie to myself later. I made sure to stay behind him as he drove steadily, going left at the light, straight th

We sat down at the dining table, and Lisa had already piled plates high before we even sat: collards with pot liquor, mac and cheese with that perfect golden crust, ham sliced thick and glazed, cornbread still steaming in the cast-iron skillet, candied yams so sweet they looked like dessert pretending to be a vegetable. The smell was overwhelming in the best way.I ended up between Caleb and an aunt whose name I didn’t catch but who kept calling me “sugar” and passing me the hot sauce like we were already family. And directly across from me sat…Dr. Harlan.But he might as well have been invisible, because I didn’t spare him a single glance.To put it simply, I couldn’t look at him.And any time my eyes accidentally flicked up, they immediately snagged on the bruises on his throat and my throat would close up. Lisa, bless her oblivious heart, kept the conversation rolling.“So, Mia, how did you two meet?” she asked, passing me the cornbread with a smile that could power a small city