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The softness that enters his voice when he says mother makes me lock my gaze with his. "Your mother?"
He nods, and leads me to a medical bed across the room. A woman is laid out on the bed, her body placed perfectly in the center. She’s unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. I look at her face, and find her eyes closed, and it appears that she’s asleep. I can't help but wonder if she might be closer to death.
"Is she okay?"
Gently, Drew smoothes the hair away from her face, the dark brown threaded with gray. I'm momentarily shocked at the gentleness and kindness that he shows his mother. It’s like flipping a light switch on and off.
"She's alive, so I guess for now, yes, but she went into a coma some time ago, and we are just waiting for her to wake up. I don’t know all the details. My piece of shit father refuses to let me see her or have any knowledge of her care.”
I melt, witnessing this moment and the look of love that shines in his eyes as he stares down at her.
"Your mom is beautiful. What's her name?"
"Victoria."
I nod and reach for her, patting her hand softly. "It's so nice to meet you, Victoria. I'm Maybel. But you can call me Bel.”
His hand eases around my waist, and he tugs me to his side. "I wish we could stay longer, but once my father notices I’ve disappeared, he’ll send his goons to find me, and all hell will break loose if he discovers I’m visiting her when I’m not supposed to.”
“You really are breaking the rules tonight.” I grin.
“I am. I had to check on her, and I've been wanting you to meet her. It just so happened that tonight was the perfect occasion for all of that."
Calmness washes over me, and I lean into the feeling. For so long, I wondered if there was anything good in Drew, if he cared about anyone else but himself, and while I’ve wavered in understanding his psychotic tendencies, it’s clear to me now, after seeing him with his mother, that he’s willing to do anything to protect those he loves. I don’t know that I can continue to hold all his bad against him when his intentions are pure.
Drew talks to his mother for another few minutes, telling her about what he’s been doing and gushing about me. He smiles at her but even a smile can’t misplace the anguish and fear he feels for her. He’s a puppet on a string, and his mother’s life is hanging in the balance. I wish I could take the pain he’s feeling away, that I could hurt his father the way he’s hurt him but I can’t.
“We’ve got to go, Flower,” Drew whispers into my ear, pulling me back to the present.
“I look forward to meeting you again,” I tell her while giving a tiny wave goodbye. Drew is quiet as he leads me back to the party the same way we came. Before we enter the foyer, I give his hand a tight squeeze.
“Thank you for that. For taking me to meet your mother.”
He swallows thickly. “I can’t wait till the day she’s better, and you can both sit down and talk together. She’s going to love you. I just know it.”
Reality smacks me in the face then. Drew talks as if we’re together now, as if everything is better, but it’s not yet. Can it be? Can this all be fixed? Yes, but it’s not an overnight thing. It’s going to take time and patience. Still, I doubt I’d be able to walk away again. We remain together, me at his side, as we cut to the bar. The bartender asks for our orders, and Drew gets me a soda while ordering a whiskey for himself.
“I’ve been drinking wine almost all night,” I gripe when the bartender hands me the Pepsi.
“You aren’t of age,” he taunts and sips his whiskey with a smirk.
His playfulness is surprising, given his father’s appearance and the ordeal we had at the last event. At the end of the bar is a commotion, and I hear his dad’s vicious voice cutting through the air, a small crowd forming around him.
"She's trash. She came from trash, and she'll go back to it eventually, right? But can you marry trash if it comes with millions? Of course you can."
Drew's hand tightens on my waist, and I swallow hard, realizing he's talking about me. An onslaught of emotions filters through me. Anger. Sadness. Anger again. I want to make him pay for all the pain he’s caused others.
Sebastian’s voice cuts through the men like a whip. "Well, trash may come with millions, but what does it say about you when the trash decides it doesn’t want anything to do with you?”
I catch a glimpse of his face from the corner of my eye. There’s a storm brewing in his eyes, but he appears calm, bored even. I look back at Drew whose features mimic Sebastian’s. Many of the women and some of the men around the room wear that same face, that same expression. Do they learn this from the womb? The ability to lock down their emotions so completely, and if so, how do they do it?
I sip the soda and motion to the bartender, asking for a whiskey for myself. After a while, Drew leads me to speak with a few of the wives, introducing me to them, but I don't hear names or see their faces.
All I can hear is Drew's dad echoing his words from that night.
Trash. Trash. Trash.
Is that all I'll ever be to them? Trash. Trash that might be worth millions now, but nevertheless still trash. As if he can sense my turbulent emotions, Drew cups the back of my neck and leans down.
