I pull the paper back out, enter the number into my phone, and hit call.
Her phone rings immediately.
She startles, fumbling with her purse before pulling out her phone and glaring at the screen.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I grin, waving the phone.
She glares at me like I just insulted her. “Seriously?” she snaps.
“Just making sure you didn’t give me a fake number,” I say, leaning against the door of my SUV.
She huffs, answering the call with exaggerated sarcasm. “Hi, annoying stranger. Yes, it’s me, Galeana Monroe. You happy now?”
I grin and end the call. “Ecstatic. I’d hate to accidentally call a pizza joint in Canada.”
Her lips press into a thin line, her nostrils flaring. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re predictable,” I counter, ending the call. “But don’t worry, darling. I’ll save this number in case I ever need to reach out. You know, about the damage.”
“Damage?” she scoffs, gesturing toward her bumper. “You’re the one with the fancy SUV. I’m pretty sure your car’s fine and you can afford to pay for the dent.”
I shrug, pocketing my phone. “True, but I might still charge you foremotional distress. This was traumatic, you know.”
Her mouth drops open, but before she can unleash whatever fiery comeback she’s cooking up, I step back and slide into the driver’s seat of my SUV.
As I start the engine, I glance at her through the window. She’s still standing there, hands on her hips, glaring at me like she’s trying to set me on fire with sheer willpower.
I can’t help the smug grin that spreads across my face. She might hate me right now, but I can’t deny it—I feel like I’ve won something.
Fate might have a cruel sense of humor, but at least this round goes to me.
ChapterNine
Ledger
My childhood homelooms in front of me as I cut the engine, its towering gables and wide stone porch unchanged since I was a child. But the stillness is different. There’s no faint melody of Mom’s favorite jazz spilling out of the windows, no warm, buttery glow from the kitchen where she’d be baking on a whim just because it was the weekend. There’s nothing but silence now, a shell of what it used to be.
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles pale as memories crash into me. The calls I ignored. The texts I left unread. Her voicemails, pleading in that soft, patient tone of hers.
“Ledger, sweetheart, we need to talk. It’s important. You and your brothers should come soon.”
Important.
But that’s the thing about Mom, everything seemed important to her. The gossip in town, our father’s last wishes, her new haircut. When she said important I just assumed . . . that it’d be like everything else.
Just another failed reunion to get her boys in one room and hope they can be brothers the way she always wished. The thing is that none of us wanted to be a family. Not then and not now.
“I need you, son,” she said the last time she tried.
Those four words slice through me now, sharp and jagged, because I didn’t listen. I wasn’t here when it mattered. By the time we all made it back, she was already in hospice care, her voice frail, her laughter gone, and her face barely a memory of the strong-willed, passionate woman who raised us. The day after we had arrived, she was gone.
Gone.
I exhale slowly and climb out of the SUV, my boots crunching against the gravel driveway. The cool air bites at my skin, but it’s the sight of the house that twists something in my chest. Inside, the faint smell of lemon cleaner greets me, mingled with the softer scent of something floral lingering like a ghost in the corners. It’s like Mom is still around, yet she’s gone forever.
I drop my bag in the foyer, the sound reverberating through the hollow space. My gaze sweeps the room, catching the little things that haven’t changed: her throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch, the cookbook still open on the counter, probably some recipe she wanted to prepare but no one was here to eat her food anymore.
This is so fucking depressing. What the fuck am I even doing here?
