“I’m not even sure I understand it. They aren’t married, but sometimes, when they’re together, they act . . . married. And it’s like my mom has this permission slip to come and go as she pleases.”
She flits her hand in the air, mimicking fireworks, and I can tell her emotions are morphing from hurt to something closer to anger. I nod to encourage her to keep going, to keep sharing.
“I don’t know why it makes me so mad. I’m an adult. It shouldn’t, except I probably harbor a ton of resentment for all the shit she pulled during my formative years. And she did sort of fuck me over on the cusp to adulthood.”
My brow furrows. “How so?”
I have pieced together some things on my own, like the fact Renleigh is living with her dad, and he’s recovering from what I think was probably a stroke, or he’s dealing with something neurological. But if there’s one thing I learned from any argument I’ve ever watched my dad try to survive with my mom, it’s the rule of making assumptions, and I’m not about to make an ass out of her or me.
“You know I’m twelve credit hours away from a bachelor’s in psychology? From UT. A place I loved living, by the way.” She blows up at the stray hairs that found their way to her forehead. I reach forward and sweep them back in place, tucked behind her ear, and the way she doesn’t flinch at all feels nice. She’s comfortable with me, enough so that she’s sucking in a deep breath and revving up for more.
“My dad had a pretty bad stroke a couple of years ago, and I dropped out—twelve hours shy of my degree—to take care of him. And you know why?”
I shake my head and listen.
“Because my mother had an opportunity in Houston to work for some fancy oil company, lobbying for rich people and hobnobbing with billionaires. Meanwhile, my dad lives on the pathetic disability funds of a public-school teacher, and that’s after months of battling way too many government officials just to get it.”
I grimace.
“Okay, that’s pretty shitty.” I don’t want to disparage her mom because that’s her right, not mine. I know that people can love others and hate them a little, too.
“Right?”
Renleigh stands and pushes her hair back, tying it in a literal knot at the base of her neck while she paces. She’s fully crossed over into pissed-off territory. I don’t know whether that’s healthy or not, but it hurts less to see her like this, so I go with it.
“That’s what she does. What she’salwaysdone. When my mom wants to be a coach’s wife, that’s what she is, and when she wants to be a jet-setting, campaign-running, boardroom queen, she puts on the uniform and off she goes.
“It’s exhausting, and honestly? I came to terms with how crappy it was to grow up with her a while ago. I’m just mad that she’s still doing it, and that it still affects my life. Becauseguess what? She’s back! Coach’s wife again, probably because it’s convenient. Or maybe guilt finally caught up to her. Or . . . I don’t know. I don’t even care about the reason anymore. I’m just . . . tired.”
She flops down in the leather chair, leaning against her bag as her legs jut out and her hands fall on either side of the armrests. She looks spent, like a boxer after a solid round.
“I hear you. I hear all of it, and Renleigh . . . hell, I’m sorry. That’s a lot to carry.” I chew at the inside of my mouth, eating the rest of my words despite the growing burn in my belly. My conscience is urging me to speak some hard truth.
“What is it?” Renleigh barks.
Welp. I must have a bad poker face.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees while I rub my palms together, and steady my gaze on the gray carpet floor between us. My gaze lifts to meet her heavy stare, and I swallow.
“Did your dad ask you to do that?” My leg muscles flex on instinct, like the rest of my body heard my words and took notice of incoming missiles of attack.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
She doesn’t sit up, but her head shifts forward a touch. If she is a zombie, this is the point where she will try to eat me. I should let her.
“Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t interfere. It’s just . . .”
I run my palm over my face. I have two decent skill sets—one is throwing a baseball hard. The other? Conflict management. I’ve always been the peacekeeper. My sisters and I fought like hell over everything. Same with the guys I grew up with, my teammates. Even now, I’m constantly looking to keep everyone happy.
Sure, it’s selfish to an extent. I want Roddy to like me. I want Brooks to like me. And Adler. And fuck, all of Texas, when I get there. It’s a complex deep and wide, and I’m aware of it. Andmaybe one day if Renleigh finishes her degree and goes into the clinical shit, she can help me dissect it. But for right now, the need for conflict resolution is my superpower. And like it or not, I’m compelled to use it.
“You’re so upset, and your emotions are valid. They are. Trust me. But is there a chance that maybe . . . I don’t know.”Suck it up, Hunter. Spill it.“That you brought some of this on yourself?”
She blinks once, then doesn’t move for a solid five seconds. My insides begin to shrivel. We’re not fucking tonight. Hell, I may never be seen alive again.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have?—”
“You’re right, you shouldn’t. This was a dumb idea.” In a single heartbeat, Renleigh is on her feet with her bag slung over her shoulder and on her way to the exit.
