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More like shouldn’t bother me, I think, as I let myself into my room and close the door behind me. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
How can my brothers just forget what she did? How can they just pretend none of it happened? I don’t understand.
Now isn’t the best time to worry about that, though. Not when I have clothes to pack and not a lot of time to do it. I figure it won’t be long before my dad is beating down my door, demanding my presence at the breakfast table. And since I have no intention of actually being in the same room as that woman, I’m pretty sure that will start a fight. I’d like to have as much packed as I can before that happens. Grabbing my two travel bags out of the bottom of my closet, I lay them on my bed and start shoving stuff into them. Underwear, socks, tank tops, shorts, jeans, even a couple of sundresses in case this thing with Luc manifests itself in a date at some point soon.
The bags are big since they’re meant to accommodate my bulky snowboarding clothes, so I manage to get a lot into them in a short amount of time. It’s only September so I don’t need my boarding clothes yet, but I grab one outfit anyway—just in case. I throw in a few pairs of shoes, some toiletries, and my birth control pills and I’m done in under ten minutes.
I’m just grabbing my laptop and tablet—and my phone charger so I can stop borrowing Luc’s—when there’s a knock on my door. Shit. I was really hoping to do this after I got back downstairs, where there was an easy escape route.
But since that obviously isn’t going to happen, the best thing to do is just get it over with. Quickly. Moving around my bed, I cross to the door and, after taking a deep breath, open it. I’m all prepared for my father or oldest brother, Greg, to be on the other side—all prepared to get bitched out by one of them. But what I’m not expecting is for my mother to be there, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and carrying a large mug.
I’m so unprepared, in fact, that for long seconds I just stand there, staring at her.
“I brought you some coffee,” she says, holding the mug out to me. “Your dad says you like it black.”
“He likes it black. I like it with cream.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She lowers her offering, then glances past me into my room. “Can I come in?”
“I was just leaving, actually.”
I turn away from the door, step back toward the bed, and start zipping up my suitcases.
“You’re not really moving out, are you?” she asks, taking a few uninvited steps into my room.
“What is it with people asking me that question today? Yes, I’m really moving out.”
“Please don’t. Not on my account. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you aren’t welcome in your own home.”
Well then, she probably should have thought about that before she moved back in. I don’t say that though—no use being a total bitch when the last thing I want is to create any more drama. All I want is to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.
“Don’t worry about it. I only stuck around this long because I didn’t want Dad to be alone. Since that’s not a problem anymore—”
I let the sentence trail off as I heft one of the bags over my shoulder and reach for the second one.
She stops me with a hand on my arm. “Please don’t go. I’d really like a chance to talk to you, to get to know you.”
“Yeah, well, when I was a kid, I really wanted a chance to get to know you, too. Looks like neither one of us is going to get what we want on that front, doesn’t it?”
So much for not being a bitch.
But there’s no way I can sit here and talk to her when I’m feeling this messed up. I’ll end up in tears or something equally ridiculous and there’s no way I’m doing that. No way I’m exposing just how vulnerable I am to someone who has already hurt me as much as she has.
I shake off the guilt that came with my bitchy comment, and pick up the other bag. And then I’m out of there, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to get away from her as fast as fucking possible.
But she doesn’t get the hint. She follows me, and I obviously get my athletic ability from my dad because she trips before she’s halfway down the stairs. I hear her cry out and have just enough time to drop the bags and turn to catch her before she’s crashing into me and sending both of us careening down the last few steps.
She screams as we fall—of course she does—and by the time we land at the bottom, my dad and brothers are flooding in from the kitchen. By some miracle, I manage to keep us both upright, though my weak knee and hurt feet take most of the impact.
“What did you do?” Greg demands as he comes to a stop right in front of us.
“What did I do?”
As soon as I’m sure she’s steady I let go of my moth—of her—and grab my bags from where they fell. I hope my laptop is okay. I’ll be pissed as hell if I broke it trying to save her.
“It’s my fault,” she says. “I was chasing after her—”
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Ty asks, grabbing my arm to hold me in place. “You don’t get to just walk away whenever you want to. She could have been hurt—”
