Page 80 of Sterling Fight

Oh God. Is Judd sitting next to someone who used to bully him?

“Judd,” I whisper. “Why don’t we just leave?” There isn’t room at this table for us anyway and the tension is stifling. My mother had to have known this would happen.

This type of bullshit is the exact reason I’ve stayed away for so many years.

“No.” Judd whips his head toward me. “You wanted to see your mother.”

He’s here to support me. We’re weathering this together, but is it worth weathering?

I’m about to say such a thing when Heather slips her left arm around Tate’s shoulder and wiggles her fingers. A glaringly large and rather gaudy ring with a round diamond-like gem beams on her finger.

“Are you getting married?” I blurt, distracted by the ring and the position of Heather’s hand on Tate’s shoulder.

Tate turns his head, craning his neck so he can better see what’s on Heather’s finger. Then his head whips in the direction of Heather.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he grunts as Heather removes her hand and holds it out over the table, staring at the garish piece of jewelry.

“This is my mother’s ring,” she emphasizes, pride filling her voice. “Mama gave it to me for when we’re ready to take our relationship to the next level.” She hitches her left shoulder and turns the tightest smile I’ve ever seen at Tate before she glares at Judd. “I’m leveling up.”

The insult is like an arrow, but the shot misses the bull’s eye. Heather isn’t leveling anything but her reputation as a cheater. And Tate looks struck dumb, having missed the memo that he’s engaged to Heather.

“Perhaps you’d like to go after Tate next,” my mother says beside me, and both Judd and I swing our heads in her direction.

“What?” I choke, disbelief blooming. Is my mother implying I’d go after another woman’s man?

“That’s enough,” Judd barks at my mom.

Lester bows his head while Mom holds hers higher. “It’s a joke. I was kidding.”

“It isn’t funny,” I state, my voice weak. You look like a slut, Virginia. No man likes an easy woman.

With a shaky hand I reach for a white wine that magically appeared before me when I don’t even like white wine.

Judd catches my wrist before I touch the glass. “That’s it. Now, we’re leaving.”

“What?” My mother and I say in unison.

“You’re ruining Mother’s Day brunch,” she directs at Judd.

“You ruined Mother’s Day brunch, Janet,” Judd says, pushing back his chair, tossing his napkin over his empty plate, and standing. He helps me shift my chair out of the tight seating arrangement and holds out his hand. Once our palms clasp, he presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“You’re making a scene,” my mother grouses. “Sit down, Virginia,” she demands through gritted teeth.

With my hand in Judd’s, I lift my other hand and flick my wrist like I’m tapping at an imaginary drum. “Just marching to my own beat, Mom.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” she retorts as Judd leads me away from the table.

She should know. She said it often enough to me as a child. A little less rhythm, Virginia.

And I prefer the rhythm of Judd’s hand in mine, and the racing of my heart, as no one has ever defended me in front of my mother.

No. One. Until Judd.

“Fuck,” Judd shouts as we hastily exit Evergreen Terrace and enter the bright sunlight of late morning. He removes his eyeglasses a second and scrubs a hand down his face in frustration.

The parking lot is packed, and we need to wait for the valet service to bring Judd’s car to us.

“I’m sorry about all that.” My voice is timid while Judd replaces his glasses and turns toward me, cupping my shoulders.