I snort, not liking the thought. “I hope not. I don’t have time for that type of excitement, especially with a man like him.”
“We’ll see.” I can hear the smile I’m sure is gracing her face. “Now go take a nap. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I joke. “I’ll text you later. And good luck Sunday.”
“Love you, Mon,” she says, her tone quiet and sincere. Like I don’t already know, and for whatever reason she needs to make sure I do.
“Love you, too, Kota.”
I end the call and put my phone on the nightstand. Thinking about her last words. Kade might be cover model gorgeous with perfect features and gray-blue eyes that seem to strip me naked when he looks at me. A face promising sinful nights and playful days, but he’s also a jerk who judges people before he meets them in person. If I learned one thing growing up with my mother, it’s that all the beauty on the outside can’t conceal the ugly on the inside for long. Eventually the rotten core is exposed. And I have no intention to be anywhere near it.
“Whatever. It’s not like I have to see him past my stay here. Which will be over sooner rather than later if I can help it,” I whisper to the quiet room, trying to convince myself I won’t miss this place when I leave. If coming here reminded me of one thing, it’s I miss living in the mountains. Being surrounded by their tranquility and sense of peace.
I get up with a sigh and strip off my socks and sweatpants before crawling back into bed. For once, thankful I’m able to go to sleep easily and forget about my life for a while.
Chapter Five
I wake up what feels like days later, but a quick look at the clock reveals it’s only been three hours, with my limbs still tired. The confusion of being awoken before my body is ready still clouds my mind when it registers what woke me up: my phone ringing next to the bed.
Still groggy, I pick up before looking at who’s calling, a mistake I typically try to avoid.
As soon as I hear her voice, a chill runs down my back, clearing the cobwebs from my brain, and I sit up despite the twinge in my shoulder.
“Montana Ivory Oakley, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I haven’t heard this level of venom in her voice in a while. It’s reserved for when I do something she perceives as interfering with her plans. And I’m sure if she was in the same room with me, she’d take her anger out at me physically.
“What do you mean?” I sigh and put her on speaker so I can lean back into the pillows while placing the phone on my chest. I can feel the anger pouring through the phone, but with my mother you never know what it is about. I just know I did something to piss her off. I can’t remember the last time she sounded this infuriated.
“What I—” I can hear her take a deep breath, I’m not sure if it’s to scream at me or an attempt to calm down, but I brace for impact. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me. After everything I’ve done for you. You’re such a selfish little bitch. I just can’t believe you.” The venom seeping through the phone isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. It used to cut me deep when I was younger, but there’s only so many times the knife can pierce the skin before it dulls enough to stop drawing blood.
“Veronika, I don’t—” I try to interrupt. I still don’t understand what she’s talking about.
“Be quiet. What do you think will happen now that you’re back there, with him?” The bitter spite in her voice in unmistakable, and I know she’s talking about my father. But why she’d be mad at me for coming here is still a mystery.
“You’re mad because I asked Wayne for help when I needed it, and you were too busy running off somewhere to give a shit?” I ask in disbelief. Every time I think my mother can’t shock me anymore—that I’ve seen the worst of her, the craziest—she proves me wrong.
“Watch your tone with me. I will not stand for you to speak to me like that.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask in exasperation. I’ve been trying for years to figure her out and still never know what I do to set her off. “I needed the help with Whisky and my shoulder, there was no one else to call. No one.” I pause for a second. I can’t believe I’m this pathetic that I have so few people to call who’d help me. I feel a pang in my chest, and I lift my good hand to rub the skin over my heart, wondering what I’m feeling.
“You could have hired someone. There were options.”
I roll my eyes at that statement. My mother hasn’t learned yet that throwing money at the problem doesn’t always make it go away. “No, I couldn’t have. And you’d know that if you had paid attention. Whisky is hurt, and I need someone to take care of him who knows what they’re doing. There was no way for me to hire someone on such short notice who would have been able to handle him.” I’m frustrated with her lack of understanding, and the fact that I don’t understand why she’s so mad at me for asking my father for help. “Wayne knows what he’s doing, and he dropped everything to come and help me out.” Which is more than I can say about you, I think, but I don’t say it. Nothing good would come
