“Why the hell would I invite you?”
“Because I’m your mother,” she booms. “You owe me!”
My hands start to shake. “You are not my mother.” I let out a pained laugh. “Pretty sure I made that abundantly clear when I took off twelve years ago.”
She begins to wander around the room, glancing at the art on the walls. She drags a finger along the dresser, even pauses to pick up one of Presley’s compacts, and checks her lipstick in the mirror. I want to rip it out of her damn hand, but I can’t seem to move. My feet are rooted to the floor, making me feel helpless. She doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as my wife.
“I never really thought about you after you left, you know?” she admits with a casual wave of her arm. “I never thought you’d amount to much. Most men don’t, and the ones who do usually aren’t worth the hassle.” She tosses the compact back onto the desk. “But then I’m scrolling through social media one day, and there you are—and with the Creeds no less.”
Fucking internet. I’d gone years without social media, trying to avoid something like this, and one encounter with an asshole paparazzi is all it takes for her to find me.
“At first I was proud. I thought maybe you’d learned a thing or two from me after all.” She smiles. God, she thought I married Pres for money? The thought turns my stomach. “But then, imagine my surprise when a quick internet search reveals that you are already sitting on quite the fortune. Seems like I underestimated you.”
My fists clench.You always did.
“What do you want?” I ask through gritted teeth. “’Cause I know you’re not here to celebrate my nuptials.”
She folds her arms neatly across her chest and tilts her head. “Compensation.”
My brow shoots up. “Compensation? What the hell for?” God, this is almost laughable. First Jace, now her.
“For the first eighteen years of your life.”
“You want me to pay you back? For what? Not dumping me off with social services? Honestly, maybe I would have been better off. At least in foster care, I would’ve had the slightestchance of finding a parent who loved me. With you, it was never possible because the only person you could ever love is yourself.”
“Is that why you came back to these people? Because you think they love you?” she scoffs, gradually closing the distance between us. Her perfume is suffocating. I hate how her presence makes me feel weak, like I’m that eight-year-old kid again, asking why Santa didn’t come.Because he only visits kids who deserve it.
“I—” The words get lodged in my throat. A victorious grin starts to spread across her face.
“I think it’s time for you to leave.” I look up to see Lance standing in the doorway with Tilly.
They look pissed.
“Not until—” she starts to argue.
“No.” Tilly raises her voice and steps forward. Lance reaches for her, but she bats him away. “No. I held my tongue the last time you were here, and it cost me. It cost all of us. But not today.” She begins to shake her head. “I should have never let you take him that day. I should have slammed that door in your face and fought you in court, assuming you even made the effort to show.
“But I made the mistake of thinking your connection to him somehow overshadowed ours because you were his real family, and we would always be just a substitute.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see her pain. Her remorse. God, I never knew. She and Lance always seemed so confident—an endless source of positivity.
I thought they were the perfect family, and I far from it.
It was never about wanting more than what they could give. It was believing that I was worth what they were offering in the first place.
“I could go to the press,” she says in a panicked rush. “I’m sure they’d love to know—” But her words are cut off by commotion in the hallway as Hendrix and Cash run in.
Their breaths are heavy, and their eyes are fixed on Lance. “You said it was an emergency. We brought the security guard, like you asked.” I didn’t even see him pull out his phone.
Lance motions to me and to…God, I can’t even say her name. I don’t ever want to say her name again.
“What the actual fuck?” Hendrix glares at her. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.”
“Come on, Hen.” Cash holds him back. “Let the security guard do his job.”
They step aside as an intimidatingly large man walks in. My—sheimmediately tries to bat her eyelashes at him and explain the misunderstanding that has occurred. When that gets her nowhere, she resorts to arguing. The security guard stands patiently and unmoving through her tantrum and finally threatens to call the authorities. That quickly shuts her up, and soon, she follows him out of the room without a backward glance. Cash and Hendrix follow them out.
The moment she’s gone, I let out a breath I think I’ve been holding for twelve long years. Tilly takes a tentative step forward. “I’m so sorry, Hollis. I have no idea how?—”
