A small prickle of fear races up my spine. I trust my mom. I believe she hasn’t fallen off the wagon. But there’s a part of me—an unhealed, angry, scarred teenager who still hates her a little bit for everything she put me through—who’s afraid she’s going to fuck all of her progress one of these days.
But I also know she’s tired because she’s sick. Her drug use over the years fucked her immune system into oblivion, and the fact that she started smoking at age thirteen and didn’t stop until last year, when pneumonia almost killed her, caused COPD.
She never quite recovered herself after my stepdad was put away. She was given the space and tools to heal in rehab, but in family therapy, we were all warned she wasn’t ever going to be the woman she was before he came along.
My sisters never knew that mom, but I did.
And it kills me a little bit to know they’ll go the rest of their lives not knowing the person she was before him.
Making my way over a few piles of unfolded laundry, I step into the kitchen and sigh. The pot of noodles on the stove is very green, and there are at least three pans that need sanitizing in the sink.
Leaving the groceries on the table, I get to work, slipping on a pair of gloves I don’t think she’s ever touched, and run the water as hot as it can go. The cleaning is mindless, which used to be a good thing, but now all it does is give me space to think about Leo. About the way he tasted, the way his dick felt in my hand.
The way just his presence alone made me come. And that he’s been my first everything, and I don’t think he knows it.
But it isn’t just that.
There’s also the terrifying memory of how I felt when I saw him hit the ground when he was running from me, and how it felt to lift him in my arms and carry him to his house.
And how close I’d come to kissing him again.
Last night, I woke up dreaming about what it would have been like to put my mouth on him and suck him dry. I don’t fucking need this. I don’t need a guy who wants to fuck me in spite of the fact that he can’t stand me.
I want to be loved. Or at the very least, I want to be liked. I want the person who’s lusting after me to not hate my guts while craving my dick. Not that Leo’s touched my dick, but god help me, it’s all I’ve been able to think about while jerking off over the last week and a half.
Or longer, though I’m not ready to admit that, even to myself.
Leaning over to start the dishwasher, I jolt when my phone begins to buzz, and I realize I’ve forgotten to call Easton back.I expect the call to be from him, so my eyes widen when I see Westin’s name on the screen.
“I can’t handle another emergency tonight,” I say as I answer.
She sighs. “You’re always so dramatic. Where are you right now?”
“Mom’s.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Is it bad?”
I glance around at the laundry piles and grimace, but now that the dishes are clean, it smells nicer. “It could be worse. Is there something I should know?”
“I don’t think so. She’s been tired lately, but I think she’s having some kind of flare. Her doctor started her on new meds last week when I took her to her rheumatologist.”
Well, that’s…something, I suppose. At this point, her treatments are all for quality of life, not for cures, because there is no cure for anything she has. But knowing it’s meds and not the worst-case scenario has me breathing a little easier.
“She’s sleeping right now. After the dishes are done, I’m going to do some food prep. You want me to bring you anything?”
“Nah. We…actually.” She stops for a second. “Can I swing by? I want to talk to you about something.”
“West…”
“Please,” she begs.
I want to remind her that I have too much going on. That I have no more space in my head for someone else’s problems or another crisis. But she knows I’m not going to.
“Fine. I’ll be here a while.”
“Thanks. I’m actually like ten minutes away. See you soon.”
She hangs up before I get the chance to change my mind, which is just like her, and I shove my phone back into my pocket and start wiping down the counters and mopping the floor.
