I laugh and shake my head.
“And how exactly did you plan to transport the stolen goods? Nice try… but you never really did tell me why you were actually camped in the park that night,” I say, squinting at him.
He leans against the car beside me, both of us staring out at the quiet, empty streets as the sun hits it’s mid-morning position over the peak of the Hill. A beautiful sight, but one I would have preferred to skip this morning when I awoke in Pax’s arms to a cup of coffee while he insisted we head back at the crack of ass to face the music.
“Well?” I ask, nudging him. “Why were you tenting it in Dellwood the night we met?”
“If I tell you, do you promise we will go inside and check on your mother?”
“Fuck, fine,” I whine, “but don’t skimp out on the details.”
I kind of hope his story lasts all day. I do not want to go in the house at all.
“You remember the lawyer I told you about?”
I nod.
“Yeah, the stupid prick that defended the ped—”
“Yes!” he hisses cutting me off.
He grips my hand and squeezes it and I know he’s telling me he doesn’t want to talk about them, just the lawyer.
I squeeze it back and kiss him on the cheek.
“Anyways, the lawyer…” I prod.
“He lives in your neighborhood.”
“Oh?”
My heart begins to pound, my mind filling with questions.
“I was here that night to finish what I had planned for the schmuck; I’d been stalking him for months.”
I turn and look him in the eyes.
“And did you? Finish it?”
He laughs a sincere laugh and shakes his head.
“Nope… I ended up carrying a drunk seventeen-year-old up a giant fucking hill home to her daddy.”
“You rescued me,” I blush, taking in his deep loving gaze.
“Wrong again, Vixen,” he pauses running his fingers over my necklace, “it was you who saved me, my saint. Had I not met you, I would have done something I’d be regretting for the rest of my life.”
“See… it was luck, just. Like. I. Said.”
“No, it was fate, and stop trying to start an argument. You promised we would go inside if I told you.”
“Yeah but if we hate-fuck first it’ll get me in the mood to deal with the Devil,” I say, raising my brows up and down.
“It’s not happening!” Pax states, smacking my ass. “Now get moving.”
I growl at him to the best of my ability, but he ignores me and follows me inside. The sitting room is still completely destroyed and there is no sign of Mother or Gabe.
“Maybe they fucked off?” I tell Pax.
“Maybe they’re still in bed,” he retorts, smacking my ass, again, and jutting his head toward the stairs.
I roll my eyes and drag him up the staircase and all the way down the hallway until we reach Mother’s room where I tap on the door.
“One sec,” I hear Gabe say.
He opens the door, eyes us over, and waves us in as I look at my mother, noting she is out of it and looks like absolute shit.
“Maybe we should give them a minute,” Gabe tells Pax.
“Sure thing, schmuck, I’ll be in the hall if you need me, Vix.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I walk closer and take a seat on the edge of the bed.
“After you, hobo,” I hear Gabe gripe.
“Nah, you can go first, minion, I’m a gentleman,” Pax replies.
“What the fuck you guys? Just get out already!” I hiss, annoyed.
Jesus! They aren’t in the room twelve seconds together and they are already bickering.
I take a confounding breath to calm myself as I hear the door close and I return to studying my mother’s pale face. She looks old somehow, weathered and worn. I’ve never seen her like this, and it’s almost sad. Is this what detox looks like? The nightstand is riddled with medications and used tissue, and there is a pail on the floor. I can’t help but feel kind of sorry for her as I grab her hand and skim over her warm knuckles with my thumb.
“Kirsten,” she says, stirring, “you’re home.”
Her voice is weak, but caring, a tone I have never heard from her. Ever.
“Yeah, Pax dragged me back this morning. He said you’ve been sick.”
“Was,” she says sternly. “Was sick… for a very long time, but I’m trying to fight it. I have a sponsor now; her name is Claire. She says alcoholism is the work of Satan… I laughed and told her my daughter would agree.”
I look at her genuine smile in disbelief.
“You talked about me?”
“Yes,” she nods, “and about your father too. I have a counselor as well; he gave me some medications and a book he wants me to read.”
“A book?” I laugh, confused.
“The Bible,” she says proudly. “He says it’ll give me strength and bring peace to me.”
“Well, he, sounds like a fucking whackjob!”
“I thought so too,” she laughs, “but if it might help me repair the horrible things I’ve done, then I’m willing to read it.”
I look away, not wanting to see the guilt in her eyes, the pooling tears, it’s weird and I’m not sure I can trust it.
“Kirsten,” she says softly, “I know I can’t make up for most of it, I can’t undo it or take it all back, but I can apologize. Will you please look at me?”
Her pleading breaks my heart, yet it angers me at the same time.
“No, Mother, Kings don’t cry, you taught me that.”
“I was wrong. God was I wrong. I’m sorry, Kirsten, but I understand if you can’t forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” I hiss. “For
