Page 20 of Royal Desire

I get nothing.

I raise my voice. “Mom.”

“Hmm?” A hand appears over the back of the sofa, and she waves me off. “Go away. Taking a nap.”

I let out a sigh of relief. She’s alive.

I gave up on interventions a long time ago. I even forced her into treatment, but nothing helped. When I cut off her source of pills and liquor, she found another one. She’d tear the house apart and come at me for taking away her booze and prescriptions. It got to the point of violence. Then she’d demand her keys when she was high and drunk. But there was no way.

I’d just turned thirty. My mom was a raging addict of so many things and had no desire to be sober.

Nothing has changed.

I gave up.

I can’t make her want to get better. If she wants to numb herself into an early grave, I can’t do anything about it. I have managed to keep her in the house, so she doesn’t hurt anyone else. It’s all I can do.

I pick up a medicine bottle on the end table that sits next to an empty bottle of pineapple rum. She drinks the weirdest shit. At least the pills are over the counter. I have no clue where she orders this stuff from, but the moment she starts to sober up, she has half a brain to order more.

A tray of food sits cold on the coffee table. I lean down to give her shoulder a shake. “Mom, you need to eat.”

She presses the side of her face into a pillow. Dark rings hang below her eyes, and her hair is matted to her head. From the smell of the room, I doubt she’s showered in days.

I raise my voice to wake her up. “Mom, get up and eat.”

She doesn’t open her eyes to look up at me. “Mm-kay.”

I stand up straight and stare down at her. “You’re a mess.”

She doesn’t hear me. “See ya later.”

I turn to leave and slam her door behind me.

Fuck my life.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SALT OF THE EARTH

Ruby

We’ve performed in The Speakeasy three nights in a row.

I knew coming back to Winslet would be hard. The best and the worst memories plague me.

But I didn’t expect this.

Singing in bars is how I support myself. I’m not famous. Not by a long shot. But I have made a name for myself in some circles. Those circles aren’t big, but it’s been enough to pay the rent and splurge on my favorite slice of pizza here and there.

I love small bars—the smaller and tighter packed, the better. I feed off the energy.

Thursday was an audition. The bar was full even though it wasn’t promoted. But then again, Blake told me the manor is always at capacity. Word must have spread, and not about my drama at the Combover, because it was standing room only on Friday.

And tonight, there’s barely a breath of room. The bar was five deep, and that started an hour before we took to the mic and ivories. Blake and I added a small set at the end. Devon must like me enough to overlook my quibble with Payne the other day, because he hasn’t fired me.

Winnie is crazy enough to hope Payne comes back for an encore performance. She said local drama is what makes small towns shine. Being down with a broken ankle gives her too much time to think. Going head-to-head with Payne once was enough. I haven’t seen him since he dropped fifty dollars for a glass of water.

I climb out of the passenger seat of Blake’s truck with my heels dangling in one hand and my bag with every essential I could possibly need for freshening up in the other. I haven’t owned a car since I moved to the city. I need to think about that. I’ve been bumming a ride with Blake or borrowing Grandma’s Oldsmobile. I’m not picky, but it gives old a new meaning. And she might not drive on the mountain roads, but she does drive herself in town. She needs her car.