Out of respect, Mycah managed not to roll her eyes. Barely. This “we’re worried about you” speech came about once a quarter. It was a little early, but not unexpected.
“I’m fine, Mom. Now, if that’s all—”
“Mycah, first this insistence of working at all these jobs—”
“Two, Mom. I’ve worked at two. One for seven years.”
“It would be one thing if you at least worked for Hill-Harper.”
Mycah snorted at that. No way in hell. And be under not just her father’s thumb but at the mercy of a board of people who remembered her when she was in Pull-Ups? Zero chance of respect.
“Then you bring home that...that man to dinner,” her mother sneered.
“If memory serves me correctly, and it does, you invited him to dinner, and you did it to be spiteful. Just to humiliate him for the entertainment of your guests.” Fury rose inside Mycah as she uncurled her legs from under her, leaning forward and pinning her mother with a glare. “You and Dad are just angry because he turned the tables and threw your snobbery back in your faces and embarrassed you in front of your guests.”
“As if he could.” Her mother sniffed, picking nonexistent lint off her pants. “He just exhibited his poor breeding and manners.”
“I’m sure that’s what he said about you two.”
“Mycah Hill,” Cherise snapped. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I’m your mother and you’ll show me respect.”
“Believe me, Mom. I am.” She blew out a breath and shook her head. “You and Dad disappointed me that night. Why do you think I haven’t been back since then?”
“Well, the feeling is entirely mutual,” her mother said, voice as cold as the winter wind. “Taking his side over your family. Chasing after him. You barely know that thug and we’re your family.”
“You don’t know him, either, and don’t call him another name in my house or in front of me.”
Her mother’s chin snapped back a little at Mycah’s equally cool tone, then her eyes narrowed, mouth thinning.
“Well, is that how it is?” She tilted her head to the side, studying Mycah. “Are you involved with this...man? Is that why you’ve appointed yourself his zealous defender?”
“No, we aren’t involved.”Anymore. But he’s the father of your grandchild.God, how she longed to say it. But by sheer will she bit back the words. “But he doesn’t deserve your antipathy. You’ve made him a target because of who his mother is and where he’s from and what he wasn’t born with. When, if circumstances were different, given the color of your skin and the country you live in, you stripped away your money and fancy address, some of the people you call friends would talk to you in the same way.”
Face tight, Cherise rose from the chair, anger vibrating off her stiff form.
“Your father and I have only wanted what’s best for you. We’ve tried to guide you in the right direction, yet you’ve rebelled, slapped our hands, scorned our efforts at every turn. Have you ever looked down from your high horse to wonder how that made us feel? You’re ungrateful. Excuse us for loving you.”
With the regality of a queen, she swept from the room and out of the apartment, the door closing softly behind her. Because even in her anger, her mother would never slam a door.
Mycah stared at the empty living room entrance, numb.
You’re ungrateful. Excuse us for loving you.
You’re ungrateful. Excuse us for loving you.
The accusations played over and over in her head like a scratch-free, newly minted record. And each time they rebounded off the walls of her mind, the ice in her body spread a little further, capturing another part of her in the emotional frostbite.
Good. Because she didn’t want to feel.
“Mycah?” A hand cupped her cheek, and she jerked from it, the warmth of that palm almost too much for the cold. She needed the cold. “Mycah?” Another hand cradled the other side of her face, forcing her to focus, to look at the person who refused to leave her in the comforting cold. “Baby, look at me. What’s wrong?”
With no choice, she looked. Focused. And met an all-too-familiar sight. Achilles’s frown. “Achilles?” she murmured. “What are you doing here?”
“I knocked but you didn’t answer. And the door was unlocked.” Reproach colored his tone but, again, she was too numb to take offense. His thumbs caressed her cheekbones. “I called your name, but you didn’t answer. What’s wrong? You seem...off.”
Nothing.
It sat on her tongue, because God. She was so damn tired of explaining. Of saying the wrong things that set people off and hurt them. “Nothing” seemed the safest, but when she parted her lips...
