“He’s in some trouble, I think.”
“Why do you think that?” My hands were suddenly slick with sweat. I gripped my phone tighter, like it might slip from my grasp and shatter everything.
“I don’t know exactly. He wasn’t here when I got home. I called him—nothing. Then he sent this weird text, saying he’d call me back and that he loves me.”
Love. That word scraped against my ears like glass.What a fucking joke.
“But then—an hour ago—this detective or sheriff, whatever, someone with a badge showed up asking questions. About the parties we’ve thrown. About the cameras. He was asking things I didn’t have answers to—and honestly, things I didn’t want to answer without Richard or a lawyer present.”
I yanked my feet off the dashboard, heartbeat thudding like war drums. “I’m coming home right now.”
“No,” she snapped, sharper than I’d expected. Then, a beat later, her voice softened. “No. Until I know what’s going on, I don’t want you dragged into this. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Richard… I’m sure he has an explanation.”
“Mom, I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m not. Security’s here. Janet might stay the night. And hearing your voice—well, it’s already helping.”
Her words sank into my chest, spreading warmth like honey through a cracked glass. Too little, too late.
“Tell me, how’s everything going? Have you found a job? I’ve been meaning to call but…” her voice drifted, lost in the storm.
“It’s fine. Yeah, I did. Abigail’s fiancé has a friend who owns an Italian place. I’m working there for now.”
There was a silence that said more than words ever could.
“You’re a waitress?” she asked finally, like it physically hurt her to say the word.
“Yeah,” I laughed, the sound brittle.
“Wow. You’re really staying strong, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.Has staying at your friend’s rehab helped? Have you… stopped drinking and staying drug-free?”
I cringed so hard it felt like my insides twisted. I wanted to scream the truth—I had to stop now. Not by choice, but because my pancreas had quit on me. Because diabetes didn’t give second chances. Because I might not live long enough to fall apart again. But how could I drop that on her now, in the middle of her own unraveling?
“I’ve slowed down, that’s for sure.”
I heard the smile in her voice when she replied, “That’s wonderful news. Just what I needed to hear. It’s all about baby steps. And I know you think I’m being harsh about the credit card, but you scared the living crap out of me when you crashed the car your father gave you. He loved that car. He loves you.”
If she only knew.
“That’s why this was his whole idea,” she added.
Of course, it was.
“What kind of mother would I be if I kept giving you everything without consequences?”
The kind you’ve been for the past ten years—blinded by diamonds and designer labels, by whatever shiny distractions Richard shoved in front of your face.
“Besides, until I know what’s going on with your father, we might need to cut back. His last two movies bombed. I don’t even know how we’ve been paying our bills, but Richard’s always been the money man. I let him handle it.”
Because control was his currency, just like how he ripped college out of my hands the second I found joy in it, afraid I might meet someone who would love me without breaking me. Someone who wasn’t a goddamn psychopath.
“Well, no worries over here,” I said, forcing levity into my voice. “Abigail’s letting me stay at her lakehouse until I get back on my feet.”
“I like this, Abigail. She’s the one marrying the NFL player, right?”
I could hear the glint in her tone, like her mouth was wateringat the idea of proximity to wealth. If there was anything my mother loved more than her reflection, it was a man with a fat bank account.
“Yup,” I exhaled.
