Chapter 4 CHA

My daughter stood upright on unsteady legs, her face twisted into a terrified expression. She moved forward directly into the onrushing vehicles, looking for me with an ethereal, fearful gaze. I struggled with every ounce of strength against leaping towards her and scaring her directly into the rush-hour traffic in the seconds it took for my legs to catch up to her.

Out of nowhere-and in an instant-a giant, wide, thunder of a human scooped up Gravity in one hand, tucked her under their arm like a football, and sprinted to the sidewalk to safety.

I knelt on my knees and hacked out the breath lodged in my lungs.

She could have been killed. She almost was. Due to my careless lack of attention.

Wiping away the tears, I stumbled towards the man holding my baby. More specifically, the man swinging her by the ankles, splashing her body around like she was an opened piñata. "Where's the candy?" His dark, deep voice rumbled. No baby talk. "I know you have some. Don't play."

"I don't!" Gravity laughed, trying to kick the air, arms flailing. "I munched it all on the way here."

Snitch.

"I suppose I'll just have to dine on you then."

Another fit of guffaws. "Nooo, Uncle Flinn. Mommy won't let you! She loves me!"

My own heart finally settled. I wiped my sweaty palms on my sweatshirt, faking nonchalance as I stepped up onto the sidewalk alongside them.

Them being my daughter and Flinn Coltridge.

Flinn Coltridge, my brother's best friend.

A man-whore.

A cocky bastard who knew he was God's finest work until then.

A decadent, egotistical work of art in a Prada suit.

Too bad the work of art was a masterpiece.

Flinn made the "fun" in "dysfunctional." He was a pest who got a free pass for all his faults because of his dazzling appearance. His prince-like features included six feet and four inches of bronze, taut, absolutely muscular body, gold-spun hair the hue of an unlimited wheat field, and eyes as green and bright as the brightest emeralds. All his details, from his brutally sharp jawline, cartoonishly elevated cheekbones, and full lips to his straight nose, screamed perfection. And we hated each other.

Actually, he couldn't even bother to scrounge up enough shits to give a damn about me or anyone else at all. It was one of the things I despised about him. He was living proof that you could be alive with no heart in your chest.

"Hello, Flinn." I approached him, putting on my fake bravado like it was a fancy hat.

Hey, screwup," he evaded tonelessly, hoisting my daughter onto his bicep and shooting me the acutely disinterested stare. He wore a coin around his neck on a plain black chain. Again. He'd worn that crap around his neck since we were almost teenagers. I'd ask him why, but never really cared.

"Watch what you say in front of my child," I warned him chilled.

"Mommy said yes in the car," Gravity provided with a smile, chuckling.

Traitor.

"It's wishful thinking, kid," Flinn flashed a sneer dog's smile that sent my bones tensing up somewhat.

He was not pretty-boy handsome. He was Viking half and Hozier handsome.

The honking intensified into a single prolonged blast that just kept going and going. We both tuned it out.

Flinn gave me a withering look. "Pull yourself together, Mikasa. Your kid could've died." He sneered. "While you're at it, take her back. I'm not a babysitter."

That was all it took for me to officially and finally lose it.

Not the eight-hour drive, punctuated by ten pee-pee stops, sponsored by Starbucks caffeine and suspiciously cold gas-station hot dogs.

Not the fact that Sam had died on me ten feet away from the parking garage.

Not that I was poor, jobless, single, and raising a child, despite the half-time feeling that I was still one myself.

And even the detail he was to be my neighbor, as Pete and Timothy's apartment was downstairs from Flinn's. They had done it that way so they could always stay close.

That.

"It'll be a cold day in hell when I start taking parenting tips from you." I hugged Grav into my arms, listening to my vocal cords tear with a scream. "She was buckled in.". It's not my fault that she's clever enough to learn how to unbuckle. We had a terrible journey here. My vehicle broke down. It's halted traffic. The insurance firm wouldn't pick it up. I haven't slept in three days. I don't even have the money to get this car repaired-

"I take it you're Pete's new do-gooder charity case and will be living in his apartment," Flinn interrupted curtly, wiggling his wrist to look at his watch. He appeared to want to get on with his day. As if he had more important things to do than sit front row to my breakdown.

I hated him. So much that it stung.

"I'm not anyone's charity."

"Don't knock it till you try it. Becoming a stripper named Charity may be the answer to all your financial problems."

"You're a pig," I snarled.

He winked. "Oink, oink." And then, because apparently putting each other on fire was only on my list of things to do, not his, he said, "Come on. Let's push that car out of the way."

"I don't need your help."

"What a coincidence. Don't want to help." He gave her a second evil grin, tucking his dress shirt up to reveal veiny, muscular forearms. "Alas, you're my best friend's baby sister, and I have some decorum not to leave you and your child to get stabbed by a cab driver."

He yanked open the steering door and slid in, inserting the key into its spindle. "Lights are working, so it's not the battery. Perhaps the spark plugs. How old is this thing?"

"Not as old as you." What was I, five? Who talked like that?

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he frowned, ignoring me. "I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I'll go into the auto shop later and get it fixed. Meanwhile, I'll push it into the garage."

"Uh, okay."