Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
But there’s an end for him. There’s a fitting death coming and coming soon.
30
ANGIE
I’m anxious the second Connor leaves the house.
After the attack on his mansion, it kills me when he’s not around. I’m constantly worried I might never see him again, that a bunch of armed men might storm through the door at any moment and destroy everything I’ve grown to love.
Because I do love it here. Even this house, with its empty rooms and echoing halls. No staff, no help, not anymore. Lisa survived the assault, but Connor made it clear he’s not bringing anyone around aside from guards until this is all finished.
It’s his family I adore. Danielle’s chatty and selfish, but even she’s warming to me. Then there’s Rowan, and how much she’s hurting right now, and Cathal with his crooked, broken nose. They’re such good people and I don’t know how I’ve gotten through the day this long without having real family to come home to.
Mom’s slumped on a dingy chair in front of an old TV. She looks miserable: pale, drawn, sweaty, and nervous. I sit with her, but she only complains about everything and constantly changes the channel.
“We had a good thing, you know,” Mom says, jabbing the remote in the air. “A real good thing, and what did he go and do? He went and screwed it all up.”
“You know that’s not what happened.”
“Like hell I do! That place was magical, Angelina. I loved that house so much. And look at me now.”
“You realize we were practically prisoners?”
“But I had staff. I had cleaners. And I had my chewies. Where are my smokes now?”
My head swings toward her, pulse thumping in my ears. “Your smokes?”
“My gummies! Whatever! I swear it’s like my brain’s on fire. It’s so loud inside my head, darling, and I need something to tone me down, you know that. Where are my smokes? Please, lovey? Can you ask Connor?”
“Mom—“
“Please, baby? Pretty please? I know we’re in hiding, but please—“
“Enough!” I stand. My knees wobble and I’m shaking. “Stop asking. Every time I come in here, it’s the same. You beg and you beg because you don’t know how to be sober. But Connor made it clear. We aren’t getting anything anytime soon.”
“Then fuck him.” She spits and kicks her legs. “Fuck him! Fuck you too!”
I watch my adult mother have a meltdown. It’s a full-on screaming tantrum, and that’s what finally breaks me. I wait her out, feeling the last shreds of my feelings for her fray and crumble, until there’s nothing left.
“I’ve given you everything,” I say, forcing the words out, fighting back tears. “I took care of you for years, Mom, when you couldn’t handle taking care of yourself. I sacrificed to make sure you had what you needed.”
“Oh, stop it, you fucking baby. Listen to yourself. You’re such a martyr.”
“I’m done now.” I turn my back on her, trembling. “You never cared before. You’re not going to care now. You’re not my responsibility anymore.”
“I’m your mother! I raised you!”
“No, you didn’t.” I walk purposefully to the door. “When this is over, I want you to go back home.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re done. You’re on your own now, Mom.”
“Wait a second.” There’s panic in her voice now like she realizes what’s happening. “I’m sorry, baby. You know I’m just tired and cranky. I don’t mean it.”
“Good luck, Mom.”
“What? Good luck? Fuck you! Fuck you, selfish brat! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck—“
I close the door behind me. Something hard thuds against it. Probably the remote. I cover my face with my hands and I should be crying but there’s nothing left in me. I stay like that, gathering myself, and it’s strange, the lightness that passes over me.
Mom’s not mine anymore.
It’s liberating. There’s guilt in me too, but I feel lighter and better than I have in a very long time.
I’ll protect her through this war. But when we come out the other side—
She’s on her own.
I have no idea what’ll happen and that has to be fine.
“Are you okay?”
I look up to find Rowan. She’s in a big, oversized hoodie, standing a few feet away, uncertain. Her hands are tucked into the pouch and her eyes are on the floor. “I’m okay,” I say and spread my arms. She comes to me without saying anything else, lets me fold her into a massive hug, and that’s what finally does it.
We cry together. I’m not even sure what we’re crying over. Poor dead Colm, maybe, but it’s cathartic. I finish before she does and I stroke her hair until she calms down.
“I’m sorry your mom’s so awful,” Rowan says softly.
“It’s alright.”
“My mom’s been trying to talk to me. I can count the number of serious conversations we’ve had together on a closed fist. I think she’s afraid.”