Текст книги "Seth"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

I press the electronic key to unlock the doors, and we scramble inside. Jeez, it’s cold! The temperature must have suddenly dropped ten degrees.

The rain closes around the car, a solid wall, trapping us inside. I turn on the ignition and start the heater. Rubbing my hands together, I look over at Seth. He’s struggling to get rid of his drenched jacket. He manages after a moment, and throws it at his feet with a low curse.

I forget myself staring. With his dark hair plastered to his temples, long lashes wet, the T-shirt stuck to his body, he should look like a drowned rat.

Except he looks good. Crap, he doesn’t just look good, he looks frigging hot. My lower lip catches between my teeth as I observe a shiny droplet trickle down his neck, disappearing into his white T-shirt. A T-shirt that’s gone transparent, molding to every hard ridge and plane of his chest and shoulders, outlining his firm pecs, his taut abs.

Then he grabs the hem and pulls that one off as well, and my brain self-combusts.

Mayday. Hot, shirtless guy in my car.

Takes me a while to realize he’s staring right back at me.

“You should take off that coat,” he says, his voice flowing over my skin like rough velvet. “Need help?”

Snapping out of my daze, I manage to twist in my seat until I can shrug the coat off. I throw it on the back seat, and I can feel his eyes on me, a line of heat.

I turn toward him, start to ask if he’s okay, to say again I’m sorry, but the words stick in my mouth.

He’s undoing his pants. The top button on his jeans pops open, and he unzips his fly slowly. Click, click, click.

“What…?” I have to stop and swallow, my mouth dry. “What are you doing?”

“It’s wet. Taking it off. You should do the same.”

“Taking… We’re in the middle of a parking lot. Outside the zoo.”

“In a storm. Lots of rain. Nobody can look inside.”

“But I could just—”

He slips a hand behind my neck, pulls me to him and licks my mouth. “You could just take off your panties and climb on top of me. We could warm each other up until the storm is over. Told you that’s what I’d do with you on a Sunday morning. Or did you think I was joking?”

He sounds serious. His words, his taste, his touch is intoxicating. When he deepens the kiss, I moan. When he reaches with his other hand between my legs, I gasp. He tugs on my panties, sliding them down my legs until they pool at my ankles. I slip my feet free.

With one last lick at my lips, he leans back and gives me a crooked grin. “You should never wear panties. If I was your boyfriend, I’d hide all your underwear so that I can touch your pussy whenever I want, stroke you, make you come.”

I’m panting, clenching so hard deep inside I think I’ll come just like that, from his words, the intensity of his gaze. He tugs on my arm, and I climb over him, tucking my knees at his sides.

“Oh God, at last,” he breathes, his gaze going heavy-lidded and darker than the storm clouds outside. “So beautiful. Need you.”

Need you, too, I think, dazed at how much I want him. The windows are fogged over, and the rain pounds on the roof of the car like a drum. It matches the frenzied beat of my heart.

His brown nipples are bunched up, tight little peaks. I tease them with my fingers. He grabs my hands, kisses the palms, slides them down his chest to the thin dark trail leading to the bulge in his briefs.

My breath quickens. I palm his erection through the cloth and he hisses. Under my hand, he swells more, the tip of his cock pushing under the elastic.

I pull his cock out.

He gasps loudly as it springs free, thick and long and flushed—so sexy—and I clench painfully between my legs. His broad chest rises and falls on a deep breath, and he moves my hand up, to press down on his cock. His face contorts—pleasure, so sharp it hurts—and his cock jerks under my fingers, growing hard as steel.

“My turn,” he mutters, and before I know what he’s talking about, before my brain catches up, he tugs the straps of my dress down and puts his hands on my breasts. He buries his face against them, kissing them, then mouths my nipples, sucking and teasing until I’m breathing hard, aching for him to fill me.

His hands travel down to my hips, and slip under my dress, finding my naked parts, spread wide. I fall forward, bracing my hands on either side of his head, lightheaded, as his fingers rub over my clit and further down, pushing into me.

“So wet,” he whispers. “Fuck. You’re so hot.”

Lights explode behind my closed eyelids when he strokes me inside, while his thumb presses on my clit. Oh God, I can’t… I’m going to come. This is crazy, he’s just only started touching me, and I can’t hold back.

“Seth!” I cry out as I tighten around his fingers, my hips rocking, the rain a counter-beat to a pulse that’s echoing deep in my core.

“Oh fuck…” He pulls his fingers out slowly, panting as harshly as I am. “Need to feel you around my dick, right now. Shit.”

I blink heavy lids while he fumbles with something one-handed. He’s holding his wallet, and he extracts a condom from it. He tears the foil open with his teeth and reaches down between us.

The sight of his cock, so big and wet, sends another pang of pleasure through me. Holy crap. Can’t believe we’re doing this, in the parking lot, a few yards from the zoo entrance.

“Fucking hell,” Seth rasps, rolling the condom over his hard-on, his eyes slits of dark desire. “Want me to put it in you, baby? Can you take it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my pulse speeding up again. “Please put it in me, Seth.”

“Jesus. Fuck.” His breath is now hissing between gritting teeth. He grips his hard-on, the muscles in his chest seizing. “Lift up.”

I rise on my knees, and he guides his cock between my legs, between my folds, into me. The head presses into my passage, slips inside, inch by inch. Big. Hard. Perfect.

A moan catches in my throat. He clasps my hips, his body arching off the seat, his cock slipping deeper, impossibly wide. Stroking every sensitive part of me. Taking my breath away.

The pressure is mounting in my core again. Feels like I’ll come just from this first thrust, just from the blissed-out look on his handsome face. His eyes flutter closed, open once more, gazing down, where our bodies are joined.

Then his hands on my hips tighten, lifting me up—lowering me again on top of his cock, and we both groan at the rush of pleasure.

God help me. As he does it again, as he fills me up so completely nobody else could ever do it for me, a second orgasm hits me, sharper, sweeter than the first. I grind myself on him, keening his name, unable to keep quiet. I moan with each spasm of pleasure tightening my insides, clenching so hard around his cock I can feel the moment he starts coming.

Can feel his cock surge and jerk, his hold on my hips keeping me down, keeping his hard-on as deep inside me as possible as he groans and stills. His cock is still pulsing inside my pussy, and he pulls on me until I’m lying on his chest, my head tucked between his neck and shoulder.

“I wish,” he mutters against my hair, “that I could stay inside you forever. With you. Like this.”

Not sure what he’s saying, how to interpret his words. Probably just post-sex talk, I think, unable to move or think. I’m a boneless heap on top of him, not caring if anyone passing by can see us, not giving a damn that my breasts are mashed against his chest and his cock is still buried inside me.

Not wanting to accept that soon this will be a crazy memory—the feel of his cock inside me, his arms around me, his warm presence, his boyish grin—and we’ll both go our separate ways.

PART III

You think a dreamcatcher can free you from bad dreams. You think bad luck is something that happens to other people. You think things can’t get any worse.

Until the dreamcatcher breaks, bad luck turns worse and your life swirls down the drain. Then you realize you haven’t known misery until now. You haven’t had nightmares before, only bad dreams. You didn’t know.

Now you do, and still you keep fighting.

Because the last thing to go is hope.

Chapter Seventeen

Seth

Monday morning and Manon’s not in my arms when I wake up. She left late last night, saying she had to wake up early today to talk to her college advisor.

I fucking hate Mondays.

The weekend I spent with her is a magic memory lodged in my brain, making me grin as I shower and brush my teeth, as I stir some instant coffee and hop into my jeans.

Christ. It was so good I should stop thinking about it—’cuz it won’t be on repeat. One week, right? Did we agree on that, or did I imagine it? One week to show her how much she means to me, before she leaves me far behind in her rearview mirror.

And of course speaking of rearview mirrors—fucking hell, the sex in her car yesterday was damn hot. She was so fucking sexy, so soft and warm and…

Fuck. Not mine. She’s not mine. Not for real.

Lucky for her. I’m not who she needs. Can’t take care of her as she deserves. I can barely take care of myself. Need to get my life back on track.

Somehow.

Going back to Damage today. It’s about time. My knee is much better, and I need to ask the guys if anyone can recommend me for a job. Any small gig will do—small enough that nobody will go digging into my records. Now that I can stand on my own two feet, that the dizziness from the concussion has cleared, too, I need to put a patch on my life, regain control.

Zane and Rafe will grill me, for sure. I’ll have to fend their questions, keep them at bay. Bark and bite. Which is so unlike me it’s bound to raise some eyebrows and make them come at me harder, but I’ll hold strong. It’s what I gotta do.

But first… Shivering in my jacket, I wait for the bus. My first stop is an illegal car wash run by the Chinese further north. I’ve worked there before, when I was on the street. The money isn’t enough to buy you more than a cheap meal, but right now it’s all I can think of doing.

Turns out they have a new boss. He doesn’t look too impressed with me and my walking stick, but puts me to work nevertheless.

Five hours later, drenched in sweat and a few bucks richer, I head to Damage. I’m ready. I’m goddamn ready for anything.

I keep repeating the mantra in my head all the way there. I arrive first and settle down to do my cleaning shift for the first time in months. It feels good, although after my stint at the car wash, it leaves me winded, my knee aching, my shoulder throbbing.

Getting better, though. Definitely. Getting there. Hopefully soon I can return to the gym and do some serious weight-lifting and cardio with Rafe and the guys. I missed that.

Jesse arrives first, the newest inker of the shop, and he whoops when he sees me. He shows me the new section of the shop, his work station, and seems mighty pleased that I barely need the walking stick today.

It’s goddamn nice to be back. Maybe it’s gonna work out okay.

Turns out Zane won’t be coming in today. He’s out of town, and Ocean takes over my training. Which is cool, because Ocean is a nice guy, quiet and relaxed and obviously not set on chewing my ears out about missing so much training or getting a job.

By the end of the afternoon, I’m tired but pleased with what I’ve learned. Plus when asked, Ocean says he’ll see if he can find some gig for me with a buddy of his at a small diner nearby, and the others seem genuinely happy to see me and don’t ask questions.

The week has started well.

That should have been the first warning sign, I guess, the first alarm bell.

But after the weekend I had, anything seems possible. Time with the girl I want, awesome sex, and even the zoo. Christ. The goddamn zoo. Bringing back memories of a time when I had hopes for myself. For my life.

Manon texts me, asking if I’d go to her place for dinner, and I grin like an idiot as I reply.

Shit, what does that imply, though? Flowers, right? I should at least take flowers. I count the cash in my wallet and my grin fades.

Right. Still no job. Still haven’t paid the landlord what I owe him, and I sure as hell don’t have money for the next rent. What the fuck was I thinking?

I sink in one of the new red leather armchairs inside the entrance to the shop and rub my hands over my face.

Can’t afford to be reckless. Things are bad enough as they are.

But then what, shall I go empty-handed? Fuck.

I could explain this to her. She may understand. Not what I want for her, though. Not how a boyfriend should treat her, pretend or not.

Shane sits down across in the other chair, scaring the crap out of me. “What’s up, man?” He nods, rolls a cigarette. “Good to see you back.”

“Yeah. Good to be back, cuz.”

“Leg okay?”

“Peachy. Never better.”

“You shitting me, Seffers?”

I lean back. “Leg’s better. But I’m out of job and can’t seem to be able to land any. Got any ideas?”

He scowls at me. “What happened to your bartender job?”

“I got fired.”

“Why?”

I know what he’s asking. “I honestly don’t know, man. Something about policies and sick leave.”

“You think they saw your fucking record.”

I nod.

“Fuck.” Shane bends his head until his long hair hides his face. “Christ, don’t you ever worry that Zane will chuck us back out onto the street when he knows?”

“Yeah.” All the damn time.

“He can’t ever find out, Seth.”

I know.

Like I said before—this isn’t only about me. I’d never drag Shane down with me again. That once fucked him up so bad I don’t know if he’ll ever recover.

Dammit.

“You screwing Cassie’s friend? Manon?”

“And what if I am?” I shove my lean wallet back into my pocket.

“Does Jesse know?”

“None of his goddamn business.”

Shane glares at me and I swallow a curse.

Shit. I should come clean with J, but Manon isn’t Cassie, and anyway, that’s in the past, right? What happened with her? Now he’s with Amber, and they’re disgustingly happy together. I’m seriously glad for the guy—but he knows I’ve wanted Manon for months now. He never objected to it, and even if he did…

Even if he did, it doesn’t fucking matter, because I can’t be with her, not like I want. Not like he is with Amber.

He’s good for her. She’s awesome for him.

I’m the opposite of what Manon needs, even if she’s the world to me.

Fuck this.

“Heading home.” I push to my feet, grab my walking stick. “See you around, man. Let me know if you hear anything about a job.”

He nods, and I step outside, my mind returning to the flowers I can’t afford and everything Manon deserves, not knowing these will soon prove to be the least of my worries.

***

I stand outside her door, clutching the handle of my walking stick so hard it creaks. No bottle of wine. No flowers. Hell.

No choice, though. Need to save every penny. I’ll have to make it up to her later, one way or another.

Doesn’t stop me from feeling like an asshole, though. This is exactly what I was afraid of—that I’d never be what she needs.

I forget my thoughts of doom when she opens the door and gives me a bright smile, her brilliant eyes locking with mine.

Christ, she’s so pretty. It hits me every single time I look at her. No idea what the hell she’s doing with a loser like me, but I refuse to dwell on that right now. Fuck it, I’ll take what she gives, save it for the cold, lonely days ahead.

She goes on tiptoe to kiss me, and I grab her around the waist, crush our lips together. God, I can’t get enough of her. I lick her mouth, drunk on her taste, and her arms go around my neck, smooth and easy, like they belong there.

Like she belongs here, with me.

She drags me to her kitchen, seats me at her table. She’s cooked thick onion soup with toast and cheese, and despite my awkwardness at my lack of contribution, I inhale everything. It’s damn good, and I’m starving. Meanwhile, she tells me about her day at college, the new classes, the new professors, and I listen avidly.

She lives in a different world from mine.

It’s later, sprawled on her couch with her settled between my legs and the TV playing, the volume set low, that I make my apologies.

“Sorry for not bringing you flowers.” I brush the silky hair from her nape, kiss her there, make her shiver. “As soon as I get a job, I will.”

“I don’t need flowers.” She twists around, reaches for me. “Didn’t expect any.”

“You should. A boyfriend would’ve brought you red roses, a bottle of expensive wine, a gift. You shouldn’t settle for less.”

“I’ll settle for a boyfriend who wants me,” she whispers, stroking my cheek. “Who spends time with me, who listens and tries to make me feel better when I’m down. Who cares for me. Who desires me. I think I’d be lucky if I found a guy like that.”

Don’t know what to say. My throat closes up, because it sounds as if she’s saying...

Fuck no, Seffers, don’t go imagining stuff. If she finds someone, she says. Not that she’s already found anyone.

But I need her closer, so I kiss her again, and again, until we end up tangled up on the sofa. I roll her underneath me, pressing my hardening dick between her legs. Her nipples tighten under the thin fabric of her blouse, the lace of her bra.

Could I be enough for her? Could I fix my life and be with her? Would she accept me as I am, if she knew everything?

Desperate for her, I push her skirt up, tear her panties off, bury my face between her legs. She yips when I lick her seam, part her folds with my tongue. She’s sweet everywhere, and the sounds she makes… Fuck, I can barely hold on to my control as she writhes under my mouth and hands.

She reaches for me, tugs on my head. “Seth,” she whispers. “Inside me. Please.”

I groan, pulling back, taking out the last condom I have from my wallet. Feels symbolic somehow. It’s as if my time with her is ending.

Not yet, dammit.

As I push into her, as she wraps her long legs around my waist and rolls up to meet my thrusts, as the pressure builds behind my balls and inside my chest, inside my head, I fight the bad feeling, the despair. Let it roll through me, over me, chased away by the pleasure bursting through me, the feel of her body clamping around mine, milking my cock as it pulses again. And again. And again, taking away the last of my breath.

Holy shit.

Collapsing, I twist on my side and roll her in my arms, tucking her head under my chin, her arm over my ribs, breathing her in. Feeling her heart beat against mine.

I know, as I’ve known from the first time I saw her, that this is right where I wanna be. If only I fucking could.

***

It’s morning time, and Manon is brushing her long dark hair, seated on her bed. Like a movie star, in her black lacy underwear, the silver brush in her hand, she glows in the morning light.

I’m leaning against the headboard, watching her in a kind of daze, itching to touch the shiny, loose curls.

And why not? What’s stopping me? This is what a boyfriend would do, right?

Scooting closer, I brush the back of my hand over the rough silk, and she smiles at me over her shoulder. If not for the pounding behind my eyes and the damn exhaustion hounding me this morning, I’d have dragged her back under the covers and climbed back inside her.

We didn’t get much sleep last night, and it wasn’t all fun. Sure, after the sofa, we moved to the bed, and I found out she had two condoms in her bedside table drawer. You can bet we used them. She also went down on me again, and fuck, that was also amazing.

Then we fell asleep—passed out, more like—and I had the mother of all nightmares.

Can’t remember details. There was a long dim passage, and I crawled on my hands, dragging my useless legs behind me. I had to reach Shane. Shane was held somewhere in the darkness of this place, and I had to free him before the monsters got to him. But as I crawled, the passage grew longer, and the air grew thinner. No oxygen. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t call out his name. Couldn’t go further.

Then they slithered out of the shadows—faceless at first, holding baseball bats and iron bars, wearing metal boots and metal rings on their hands, to hit me harder, cut me deeper with their blows, and kicks, and punches.

Like usual, I last a long time, writhing in pain, taking it all—stuff from my memories, my body remembering, too—until their faces are revealed.

My mom. Her boyfriends. The prison guard. The thugs from the cell across from mine.

Then Zane, Tyler, Rafe, Shane, Ocean.

“Liar!” they hiss as they kick me and slam their fists into me. “Goddamn liar. Goddamn convict. You get what you deserve.”

Almost fell off the bed before I fully woke up, my stomach churning, my heart hammering. I slipped off and made it to the bathroom just in time to puke my dinner. Managed to close the bathroom door, too, and not to wake her up.

Thank fuck for small mercies. Figures this would happen the one fucking night I spend in her apartment, in her bed.

“So you don’t really want to be a tattoo artist?” she asks, bringing me back to the present.

I blink, my fingers tangled in the shiny strands of her hair. “What?”

“You said you wanted to become a herpetologist when you were little. And you seemed sad.”

Oh shit. Must have been on her mind since Sunday. I guess I was sad, recalling my dreams, but that’s not how it is.

“Dreams change,” I tell her. “I like snakes. But I also like inking.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Really?”

I grab my wallet from behind me and pull out a small sketchbook Zane gave me. “Got a pen or pencil?”

Her brows go up. Then she hops off the bed and pulls a pencil from a box on her dresser. “Here. What are you going to do?”

I grin and wink at her as I open my sketchbook. “Give you what I didn’t bring with me last night.”

The question lingers in her gaze as I start sketching. Her face among roses, her smile behind curved glass, the thorns wrapping around the bottle of wine, the stars in her eyes.

She gasps before I’m done and throws herself into my arms. “Oh my God! It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you are,” I tell her honestly. “Never.”

She smiles. “Can I keep it? Can you sign it?”

“You got it.” Her excitement eases the throbbing in my head, relaxes the grip of the nightmare. I sign with a flourish and rip the small page out of the sketchbook.

She places it in her lap. “You’re so talented. Wow.”

Heat is rising up my neck. “You think?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect.” She smiles again, a faint, secret smile that goes through me like a rip of warm wind. “You could do anything you wanted. You’re gifted, and bright.”

“Um. Thanks?” I duck my head, because the heat is scorching my cheeks and ears. Christ. It’s fucking stupid how much I hunger for her kind words. Apart from Zane, can’t remember the last time anyone told me I was worth anything.

“You’re welcome. And now I have to run. New class starting today.”

That’s right. She’s moving into her new life, her new path with her studies. Soon she’ll also get fucking Fred back, do to him the things I taught her to do to me, and they’ll…

Fucking hell. I don’t want to imagine her doing anything with him—being with him, kissing him, going down on him. She shouldn’t be with him.

She should be with me, and I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my crappy, fucked-up life, even as I know it will never happen.

I’m not easy to love, Mom always said. Too contrary, stubborn, unhelpful. I’m just too damn worthless to be with anyone, and this just goes to prove it.

***

After car washing and spending a few dollars on a burger at a street corner joint, after counting and recounting what’s left, summing it up, I curse long and loud.

No way am I making enough to pay the rent this month, even with Rafe paying half. Rafe Vestri, owner of the tattoo Damage Control where I’m training, one of the two guys who give a damn about my life, who together with Zane took me and Shane off the streets and who is still looking out for me.

Need to call him, tell him I’ll need more help this month, and that I’m moving out, to a cheaper, smaller place. Need to find a room somewhere out of town. Commute will be shit, but at least I’ll have money to buy food and have a roof over my head. Winter is closing in, and I have no desire to be on the street when the temperature at night drops below zero.

The memory of my life before Zane found me makes me shudder so hard I almost drop my cell. I clutch it more tightly.

Just need a job. Like the one Shane has, at a construction site. Pays well. Only problem is my body, made fragile after too many breaks. Bones fracturing easily. Shoulders dislocating with a simple fall.

Shit.

It’s why I looked for easier gigs—bartending, cashier, cleaner. They were okay while they lasted—before I got the shit beaten out of me once, then again, landing me in hospital and then at home long enough to lose the jobs. And fuck, finding new ones is a bitch when you have a rap sheet.

Hadn’t realized when I got out of prison, but it soon sank in. Not that I could get any legal jobs without a permanent address, but still.

That’s why I can’t tell Zane or Rafe, or anyone. Why I can’t give up this one chance to a life.

My thoughts keep circling back to my mom and the call from her lawyer. I had a missed call from him the other day. Never called back.

Now I scroll back to the number, hesitate. When I told Manon my mom’s still dead to me… Okay, not true. I’m pissed off. Hate her guts for setting me up, leaving me to get captured and rot in prison.

I want to know why she did it. What she did afterward. If she has an excuse for it all. Pathetic, I know. Not wanting to believe she’s just selfish. That she just doesn’t care about me. Never has.

I’m pressing the number to call before I even know what I’m doing. It rings and rings, and then a male voice answers.

“Hello.”

I swallow hard. “John Adams?”

“Speaking.”

I get up, limp a few steps away from the bench. “This is Seth Tucker. We talked a while back. About my mother.”

Silence. Then, “Ah Mr. Tucker. Good to hear from you.”

“You called me. A few days ago.”

“Yes, I did. Your mother would like to speak with you.”

A buzzing starts in my ears. “Yeah? What about?”

“She didn’t say. I think it’s a good idea, since you apparently haven’t met in years.”

“Ask her whose fault that is.”

“You were in prison, Mr. Tucker.”

“Ask her whose fault that is, too.”

“What are you saying?”

“Fuck.” I pull the cell from my ear, resist the urge to throw it against the wall. “Why do you care, anyway, if she wants to talk to me or not?”

There’s a long pause at the other end of the line.

“She’s in jail, waiting for her trial, isn’t she?” Sweat trickles down my back. “Nobody bailed her out.”

“She’s in jail, yes. Mr. Tucker… Seth. She has talked to me about you. How she misses you. She’s depressed. I thought it might be good if you talked to her. This isn’t my job. I’m only doing it because I want to help.”

“Good for who?” I whisper, choking on my anger and sadness. “Is she… is she there? I mean, are you with her right now?”

“No, but I’m heading there. I could call you when I see her.” Cautious. “Would you like that?”

Yes.

No.

Fuck.

“Don’t take too long,” I growl, “or I might change my goddamn mind.”

I hang up before he has a chance to reply.

***

The call comes as I climb off the bus, heading to Damage for my training. I debate ignoring it and never returning this guy’s calls again—but as I said: it’s pathetic how much I want to believe she didn’t mean to hurt me—or Shane. That she’s capable of love. Or loving me.

Because—my brain tells me—if my own mom can’t love me, then what chance do I stand with anyone else? With Manon.

Yeah, I’m seriously fucked-up. Knowing it doesn’t help.

And fuck, then I hear her voice.

“Seth? That you?” she asks.

For the first time in years, the first time since that fateful evening.

I stop, lean against the wall of a random building and close my eyes. Fuck, this is killing me. “Mom.”

“Oh God, it is you. Missed you, baby.” Her voice cracks, and it only pisses me off more.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I can’t help a snort of disgust. “What the fuck?”

“Why, Seth?” Goddammit, she sounds confused. I wonder if she’s acting for John Adams, or any other corrections officer there. “What happened to you?”

That startles a bark of laughter out of me. It’s raw and bitter and it burns my throat.

“What happened to me? Jesus, you’ve got balls to ask me that after you and you asshole of a husband set us up to take the fall for you, while you ran away with the cash you made. Did you stop to think what it would fucking do to me? To Shane?”

“Shane? Why to Shane?”

Jesus. I press my thumb between my eyes, to relieve the pressure. “Like you don’t know. Shane came to find me, tried to help me. Remember how you left me, with my knee blown, my leg broken, my arm smashed?” Remembered pain shudders through me. “He got arrested, too, taken in as accessory when the narcs rolled in. Less time than I got, but it was enough.”

“Enough for what?” Her fake sadness and confusion has bled away into pure curiosity.

“What do you think, mom? You’ve been in prison, too. Don’t you know what happens to pretty, young, exotic boys like Shane?”

She makes a strange sound, maybe a sob, maybe a laugh.

I don’t care.

“He’s prettier than I am. Or was. You should see him now, all bulked up.” A knot in my throat forces me to stop and swallow hard. “He’s stronger on the outside, but inside…”

God help me, I’ll reach across the line and kill her for putting him through that hell.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “Oh God, not Shane. Never wanted this to happen.”

“What about me? Don’t you care for what happened to me?”

“Oh, you were always strong, Seth. I knew you’d make it.”

“Screw you.” A crack inside my chest tears wide open. “I know he was always your favorite.” More than me, her own son. “He reminds you of my father, doesn’t he? You were in love, and Shane looks just like him.”

She says nothing.

Fuck. Why did I think this was a good idea? There is my answer. She didn’t even ask how I fared in prison. Doesn’t care.

“Do you feel guilty at all?” The need to know is overwhelming. “Any remorse for what you did to us? For the fucking unfairness of it?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers.

Enough of this bullshit. “Goodbye, Mom.”

“Seth…”

I wait, chewing on my rage, on my bone-deep sadness. “What?”

“It’s not that Shane reminds me of your father. It’s that you remind me of myself. And that hurts.”