Page 2 of Unleashed

I should ignore it. Get the sleep I need.

But I neglect my own needs even more than I did Jessica’s.

Grabbing the cell from where it sits on the mattress next to me, I swipe the screen and answer Titus’s call. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No.” He barely pauses. “I’m having an issue with one of the servers and I need someone to check it. Are you still at the office?”

“It’s almost midnight.” I scrub at my bleary eyes.

“So? You’re there past midnight all the time.” He sounds genuinely perplexed. “Do you want me to call someone else?”

I could tell him to call security. To have them check it out. But if it’s a complicated issue, I don’t trust any of them to be useful. And our servers are one of our most valuable assets, for a number of reasons. I can’t risk them just because I’m tired.

“No. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll call you back as soon as I get there.”

I hang up, then sit at the edge of my bed for a second. Just long enough to consider how tonight would have gone if Jessica had been willing to forgive me. I would have spent all of an hour with her before having to leave. Once again choosing work over her.

And I would have chosen work. I can’t ignore an issue like this, even knowing it likely would have been the end of us.

I’d like to think the right woman wouldn’t mind, except Jessica isn’t the first to kick my ass to the curb over the dedication I have to my job.

But she’s going to be the last. I’d rather be single than keep doing this shit. Keep disappointing people I care about.

Disappointing myself.

At least I won’t have time to be lonely.

Prologue

Maren

FIVE YEARS AGO

Who in the hell is calling me at six in the morning? And why don’t they have more respect for their personal safety? Because I’m going to reach through the phone and strangle them.

As soon as I can find the fucking thing.

I passed out last night watching a YouTube video on formatting a spreadsheet and now my phone is MIA. I know it’s in the vicinity, because it won’t fucking stop ringing, but no matter how many pillows I fling or blankets I toss, I can’t locate it.

Peering over the edge of my bed, I find it illuminating the wedge of space between the box spring and the frame. I dig it out and rush to connect the call before it goes to voicemail, just in case they’re calling me back about the job I interviewed for three days ago.

The job that had me trying to figure out how the fuck a spreadsheet works.

“Hello?” The possibility I might finally be working at something that’s more than entry-level and minimum wage has my brain waking up at a record pace. “This is Maren Lucas.”

“Hi, Maren. I’m calling from Christ Mercy Hospital. Is Janine Lucas your mother?”

All the excitement and anticipation bleeds out of me as I go from eager anticipation to crushing dread in the blink of an eye.

I’ve gotten this call more times than I can count. At first I felt obligated by genetics to rush to wherever my mother has found herself this time. To listen to her empty promises and well-intentioned lies before handing over whatever spare cash I had, knowing it wouldn’t go toward food or a place to stay like she claimed.

After too many years of playing the game, I don’t do that anymore. It doesn’t help either of us.

“I’m not coming to get her. She’ll have to call someone else.” I feel less guilty saying it than I used to, but it’s still not easy. My mom isn’t a bad person, she’s just never going to change. She’s never going to be the kind of mom everyone else gets to have.

And that’s as okay as I can figure out how to make it. At least I’m an adult now and not reliant on her for food or housing. I might not have much, but I’m warm and safe and fed.

Which is more than I can say for the life she provided me.