Page 143 of One Night with Number Nineteen

Instead, I say, “No, Mom. I can’t.”

Silence falls, long and taut. “What was that, honey bun?”

“I can’t come by today.”

“Oh.”

“But I can probably—” I clamp my mouth closed for a moment. Then I open it again. “Why can’t you get your own smoothie?”

Another extended pause. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you need me to bring you muffins and smoothies and fix a doorknob that already works? Why do you call and email Ally when I’m busy and on the road—and you know that I’ll call you as soon as I have a free moment?” I close my eyes. “Why do you need me to manage your life? Half the time, I don’t even know if you actually need my help because I never fucking let you figure it out for yourself.”

“Wh-what?”

I rub at the throb in my temple. “I’m tired,” I whisper. “It’s been more than a decade like this. Dad dying started it, and then what happened when I was seventeen⁠—”

“Don’t,” she hisses.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t bring that up.”

“How can I not, Mom?” The question catches in the back of my throat. “I-it changed everything.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think neither of us has talked about it for a fucking decade.”

Silence descends, and I clench my phone so tightly the case protests. Because I’m suddenly seventeen again, exhausted but full of excitement after my first pro game.

And then Coach comes into the locker room.

I know he’s there for me a heartbeat later.

Excitement turns to fear turns to panic—a terrified flight home, two days of searching for her…only to find her overdosed on sleeping pills and barely breathing.

Hospital stays. A psychiatric ward.

And Erin deciding—maybe rightfully—this shit was too much.

“I should’ve come home,” I say, so softly the words barely reach my ears.

My mom sucks in a breath. “Honey⁠—”

“You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”

“You were exactly where you needed to be—starting your career.”

“I knew you weren’t okay when I left. You were a wreck after Dad died.”

“And I relied on you far too much, baby. You were my child. I should⁠—”

My eyes burn. Because, fuck, how long have I waited to hear that?

“You needed me.”

“Yes, I did.”