Chapter Thirty-Four
Luke
I wake up tothe relentlessbzzz-bzzz-bzzzfrom the intercom. It sounds like it’s either stuck or someone is doing their very best to get our attention. Cody is luckily still fast asleep, snoring softly next to me. Before we left the hospital, the doctor sent us home with some pain meds that would allow him to get a good sleep. The surgery has been scheduled for Wednesday morning, and Cody was, to put it mildly, freaking out. We got home at around 10 am and I have no idea what time it is now. All I know is that it feels like someone has chucked a shitload of sand down my throat. My mouth is so fucking dry, I’m sure I’ll resemble a sand blasting machine if I try to talk.
Getting out of bed, I throw on the clothes from yesterday, not giving a damn that I probably reek worse than a morgue during a power outage. I don’t care. Whoever is banging downmy house right now—yes, the earsplittingbzzz-bzzz-bzzzhas now been replaced by an impatient pounding on our apartment door—is just going to have to deal with a less hygienic version of yours truly. Before I leave the bedroom, I make sure that Cody is still sound asleep. As I tuck the blanket up around him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, he murmurs something unintelligible, but luckily doesn’t wake up. Good, one less person—theUnidentified Intercom Buzzer—to go on my shit list. Yes, I have a shit list. It’s not long, but I am, after all, my mother’s son and aside from my third-grade math teacher, Mr. Lindon, topping the list, it’s pretty much a replica of hers.
“I’m coming!” I yell down the hallway, banging my foot against…something, cursing out theBothersome Door Banger,which I’ve now named the most annoying person on the planet. On my way through the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Getting rid of the cap, I chuck down most of it on my way to the front door. Throwing it open, I boom, “What in the ever-loving fu—”
Something, or rather someone, pushes past me inside the apartment, a heavy cloud of nauseatingly flowery perfume nearly knocking me out. I just register something small and pink before the intruder starts yelling, the sound ear-piercingly shrill, “Cody?! Baby?! Cody?!”
Oh no, you don’t! No one wakes up my boyfriend when he’s trying to catch up on sleep the day before the surgery that will determine the rest of his career. Andbaby? No fucking way, lady. You don’t get tobabymy baby.
“Can I help you?” I hiss, trailing after the interloper, intersecting her—because it is, in fact, ashe—in the doorway to the kitchen. I make myself broad—not that I really have to—because the pink intruder is tiny.
“Where’s Cody?” she spits, trying to push past me as I reach out, putting my hand against the doorjamb and blocking herway. Her face is expressionless, but from the way she taps her high-heeled boot against the floor, I assume that she’s mad. Or annoyed. Or both. That’s when I know.
“Ms. Mitchell, I presume.” I keep my voice low but firm. “Cody is asleep,” I hold up my hand in front of her warningly. “And before you get any ideas, he’s going to stay that way. He’s got surgery Wednesday morning.”
“Cody is not having surgery,” she huffs indignantly while eyeing me like I’m a bothersome bug. “He doesn’t need it. He’s fine. He just needs his mom.”Uhhh, excuse me, lady, but that’s the last thing he needs; the Wicked Witch of Pinkville.Funny how she shows up now when she’s been a no-show all the time Cody’s been playing on the team. While her socials have been overflowing with posts about Cody’s success—and her success as a mom, obviously—she hasn’t been to one of his games yet. There’s nothing surprising about that from what Cody’s told me. Long-distance micromanaging has apparently been her MO for as long as he can remember. But I guess now that her golden egg is in jeopardy, she shows.
Taking a calming breath, I try to keep my voice as steady and patient as I can before I lose it completely.
“Can I offer you something, ma’am?” She winces at thema’am, while licking her collagen-inflated lips. “A cup of coffee, perhaps?”Or arsenic?“Then I can give you the details from the hospital visit.” The last part seems to catch her attention because I bet that no matter how persuasive Mommie Dearest can be, no hospital is giving out patient information on anyone who’s not a minor.
She pretends to look bored as she mumbles something sounding likeeven his own motheron her way to the kitchen, her ridiculously high boots tip-tapping against the floor. Offering her a seat at the kitchen island, I put the coffee on, then rest my back against the counter, arms crossed in front of mychest. From what Cody has told me, I don’t want to give his mom an inch. Hell, I’ve witnessed it myself. How she bombards him with calls when he doesn’t answer her texts.
“He’s not having surgery!” she repeats, pouting, tapping her bright pink nails against the island. Oh man, Cody was right. She’s some piece of work. But so am I. They don’t call me theComeback Kidfor nothin’. She’s got another thing coming if she thinks she can push me around in my own apartment. I ignore her while I pour two cups of coffee. Placing hers in front of her on the island, I put on a sugary sweet expression.
“Milk, ma’am? Sugar?”
“I’m fine,” she cuts me off.
“Suit yourself,” I mumble under my breath, taking a seat across from her.
“Ms. Mitchell,” I start, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible, even though I want to rip this woman’s head off. Not only because of her recent stunt, showing up like this, but for every nasty word she’s ever said to Cody. And most importantly, for keeping Cody from seeing his dad and brother. Because sitting in front of her right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s exactly what she’s done over the years. She’s kept Cody from the two people he loves the most. It all makes sense when you encounter her in real life. Her inflated ego fills the kitchen. The indifference in her eyes when she regards me. Like I’m a mere obstacle. An annoying bug in her line of vision. Trying to rein in my building anger, I clear my throat.
“There was no doubt about the orthopedic surgeon’s verdict. Cody needs his meniscus repaired and…” I hold up my hand when she tries to interrupt me, “he should’ve had it right after the initial injury.”
“He doesn’t need it,” she spits, completely ignoring what I’ve just shared. “What he needs right now is his mother!”
“Ms. Mitchell,” I sigh, brushing at my forehead, a headache building, “if Cody wants to have a career in hockey, he’ll need the surgery. And,” I raise a brow at her, “it was nothing short of neglectful and irresponsible that he didn’t have it in the first place. I can only assume why that was the case.” Take that, Mom. Obviously, the surgeon at UCHealth didn’t say that, but I might as well lay it on thick.
“Don’t you dare!” she yells at me. “I have sacrificedEVERYTHINGfor that boy. My entire life so that he could play hockey! I willnothave some… somepunktell me I’m to blame for this.” She’s trembling, pointing her index finger accusingly at me. “He would be no one if it wer—”
“Mom?” a frail, sleepy voice intermingles with her rant. We both look up, Cody lingering in the door to the kitchen and before I can even react, she jumps from her seat and is by his side.
“Cody, baby,” she coos, trying to straighten his unruly hair with her ridiculously long nails, and I just want to scream, ‘Don’t touch him! Don’t you fucking touch him!’ She presses pink kisses against his cheeks, fussing over him, while Cody remains stiff as a board, his eyes connecting with mine.
“Mom, wh—what are you doing here?” he stammers.
“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here?’” She laughs all phony, that edge of annoyance still lingering. “My baby is hurt and needs his mommy. Of course, I’m here. I’m always going to be here.” She tilts her head, her hands landing on his shoulders, squeezing them, and I don’t know what passes between them, but Cody looks resigned. Beaten. Fuck this! She’s got another thing coming if she thinks she can just breeze in here and lay down the law.
“Cody, you shouldn’t be up. I’m sorry we woke you, butsomeonewas eager to see you.” I refuse to call that piece of workmom.She’s not worthy of the title. She may have given birth tothe most beautiful and precious boy in the world, but she’s notamother.Don’t get me wrong, she loves the title. She clearly wears it like a goddamn crown, but her wannabe kingdom is built on Cody’s loss of his family, his broken knee and his chronic self-doubt. I’m not going to let her take anything else from him, least of all his future in hockey.
She turns toward me, her fingers still wrapped around Cody’s upper arms like claws. No, like talons. I’m surprised she doesn’t spew fire at me when she speaks.
“My son is coming home with me. Where he belongs.” A whimper leaves Cody’s mouth, and he looks like his legs are about to disappear beneath him. “I’ve already made arrangements at an outpatient physical therapy center in Phoenix. They’ll have him back on the ice in no time. All this nonsense about surgery…” She laughs nonchalantly, shaking her head, her platinum blonde ponytail swinging back and forth. “Quacks, that’s what they are. Just out for money. Cody doesn’t need surgery.” Then, leaning her head in close to a frozen Cody, she purrs venomously, “You don’t need surgery, baby. That’ll ruin you.”
