Celia

4 Speak English?

I'm still face-planted on the grass, hiding like a creep as I watch the scene in front of me.

My girl has my helmet on and red oven mitts on her hands, holding a baseball bat. She's drowning in one of my black shirts and screaming with disturbing aggression as she launches at a line of empty beer bottles, which are on a patio table under the lemon tree.

Some rock band is blasting through her unicorn speakers. She smashes a bottle and growls like a cub from Lion King.

Celia; on the other hand, is almost naked.

She's wearing sunglasses and my favorite black shirt with a red-inked Harley-Davidson on it. Her bare legs flex as she braces into a squat then twists her upper half, causing my shirt to ride up her thighs, reaching just below her ass. Then she gracefully bends one leg, standing on her tip-toes as she swings forward her bat, and I realize we don't even have baseball bats.

Ari cheers as Celia smashes a bottle and bounces up and down. She definitely doesn't have a bra on. What is wrong with this lunatic?

Before I can conjure up a response to my own question, I'm on my feet on my way to them.

Celia is the first to notice, because she drops the bat and runs behind Ariana, putting her hands on her shoulders.

"Hey daddy!" Ari waves at me, standing there like an alien with my tinted black helmet on.

Afraid that I won't be able to control my voice, I clench my jaw instead and bend down as soon as I reach her, picking her up.

I brace her under my arm as she grunts with my each step, taking her inside the house without acknowledging Celia.

"Did you see how I was smashing those bottles? Cool, eh?" Ari asks as I set her down on the dining table and take off her helmet. Her hair is wild and she greets me with a delighted, breathless smile. "Did you? Did you? Did you see?"

I breathe through my nose harshly and take her oven mitts off, inspecting her arms for any glass pieces or cuts. Then do the same with her boots, sighing in relief when I find none.

Yeah, but the backyard is all fucked up now.

"Wait, I need to show you something else, too!" Ari pushes me away and jumps off the table, scurrying into the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder at me with a toothy grin. "Come on!"

"Not now, Ari." My tone is gravelly and I frown for not matching her enthusiasm. She's just a kid. It's not her fault. "I'll be back in a minute."

Without waiting for a reply, I step out of the house and march where Celia is still standing, the sunglasses now on her head. She stays rooted with a sheepish expression, arms around herself.

"What... the fuck?" My upper lip curls as I stop before her, keeping my voice down.

"I... I know it looks bad—"

"Looks bad? You had a seven-year-old smashing beer bottles. What if she hurt herself?"

"W-we were being careful—"

"There's no such a thing as being careful with breaking glass. You just don't fucking do it. You know the neighbor was about to call the cops?"

"Chanel?" She scowls. "That cunt's son buried a live puppy last week!"

"I don't give a fuck what others do. Don't mess with my kid." God knows what could've happened if the cops showed up and saw what I allow. What if they took her away from me?

"Excuse me?" She steps towards me, eyes aflame. "I should be the one angry. I got a front-row orientation of welcome to hell after you left! Why didn't you tell me how she gets?"