Page 84 of Trailer Trash

“I lived in the condo with Asher, and—”

She flinches hard. “That doesn’t count, and we don’t talk about him in this house.”

I cock my head, ready to unleash my fury. I can never say his fucking name, like it’s too shameful to admit Asher existed.

“I miss him,” I say sternly, knowing it will boil her blood.

She closes her eyes and takes a moment to gather herself. I want this fight. She clearly doesn’t. Her tone shifts, kinder and uplifted.

“This is silly, honey. I don’t understand why you’re working, anyway. Do you need more money? Dad will increase your trust payments.”

“I’m not working for the money.”

She draws in a deep breath and rubs her temples, frustrated. “Then why are you doing this?”

I don’t know how to answer that question honestly.

“I want to compete again,” I lie.

Her eyebrow arches, but she doesn’t argue.

“Don’t leave, yet. Have a seat.” She pats the chair next to her.

I check my watch, then sit beside her, gesturing for her to talk fast.

“I’m worried you’re looking at Harlow... in a certain way,” she starts.

“Everyone is always worrying about me. I’m fine,” I grumble.

“I just don’t understand. Please tell me you are not...”

“Fucking her?”

“No, no!” She panics, cheeks flushing. “I simply mean, I like that you are doing better. Harlow comes to the house where you’re safe. You are happy and healthy. I don’t want anything to disrupt that.”

“Like fucking her?”

“Take this seriously,” she hisses. “Dad said this new car thing might be more than you showing appreciation.”

“So I can fuck her or no?”

“Damn it, Killian! Stop it,” she commands, as if she can still boss me around. “Please, do not cross boundaries with that woman.”

I squint. “Why are you so scared of her?”

“I’m not scared. I just...” She searches for words. “Why do you always have to make things harder for yourself? A lower-class girl? Frida is far better—”

“Frida is married. Frida cheated on me twice. Frida is insane.”

Her voice lowers. “Harlow’s... kind of built funny, too. She would look strange in our family photos.”

Family photos.

The nerve.

“What? Are you afraid the neighbors will see your son with—”

“A circus act. Yes. It concerns me. Goodness, Killian. It’s bad enough you’ve put those hideous tattoos all over your body, but now you want to hurt your mother by choosing someone who will produce odd-looking grandchildren.”