I need Griff.
Me: I can’t do this anymore.
Me: I need you.
Me: Please come get me.
I hit send and my breath comes out slowly, controlled.
I tell myself I only need to get through the half an hour, until Griff gets here.
Then I can figure out the rest.
I can plan.
I can control the timing.
I can choose the right moment to tell Jace then Knox.
I can find the words that make it less ugly.
I can—
“What is taking you so long?”
My mother’s voice slices through the hallway like a blade.
I stiffen.
She’s behind me, heels clicking sharp against the carpet. Her smile is gone. Her face is tight, eyes narrowed like she’s caught me committing a crime.
“Are you hiding?” she asks, glancing around like she expects someone to jump out and accuse her of raising a failure. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“I needed a minute,” I say carefully.
Her laugh is quiet and venomous. “A minute for what? To compose yourself so you don’t ruin the night for everyone?”
“I’m not ruining anything.”
“You already have,” she snaps, stepping closer. Her voice stays low, but her eyes are bright with something cruel. “Do you know how many people ask me about you? About why you couldn’t make it work? About why your marriage fell apart when everything was handed to you?”
My throat tightens.
Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.
“I’m here,” I say. “I showed up. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted you here because it’s yourduty,” she says, her tone sharpening. “Not so you could act like this was another thing you couldn’t manage to hold together.”
“I’m doing what you asked.”
“That’s the problem,” she says, lips curling. “You always do what you’re asked, and then you act like a martyr about it. You want everyone to feel sorry for you.”
My hands clench around the clutch. The words land like a slap. “I don’t.”
“You do,” she insists. “You always have. You make messes and then you stand in the middle of them like you’re the victim.”
“Can we not do this here?” I ask, my voice low.
