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I turned my back on her again, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face her. Wild fury blew between us. “I miss my mother! Do you even get that? Or do you just care that you have me where you want me, and fuck everyone else?”
“Of course I fucking get that you miss her! Where the fuck is this coming from?”
“I’ve been telling you for weeks that I wanted her here tonight, but you hardly even listened to me. I feel so alone, King. You never talk to me about this!”
“Fuck, you’ve told me twice that you wanted her here. Fucking twice! Not multiple times over weeks. And I don’t talk to you about her because it only ends in you shutting me out for days afterwards. You tell me, would you want to bring shit up with me if you knew I’d stop talking to you and touching you for days on end?”
“I do not shut you out!”
I threw my arms up in the air. Why the fuck did we always—always—see shit completely differently? “The last time I spoke to you about this was three weeks ago. Do you know how I know exactly what day that was?” I paused for a beat before pointing my finger at her and continuing. “You came home from work wearing a flower in your hair. A pink rose. You were sad because your mum had left you that nasty message on your phone. Remember? So I made you get changed into that red dress that I know makes you feel good, and I took you to see that movie you’d been jabbering on about for days. The chick flick with the woman whose husband screwed around on her.” I stepped closer to her and angled my face closer to hers. “You hated the fucking movie after all that, you hated the pork belly I bought you for dinner, and you cried when I asked you what the fuck was really going on. We talked about your mum and then you refused to talk to me or let me fuck you for three fucking days. I slept on the couch for three nights. Tell me you remember that, Ivy, because if I’m recalling this incorrectly, I’d really like to fucking know.”
Before she had a chance to respond, Annika ran out of the house and flew down the front stairs, a look of complete terror on her face. Holding the phone out to me, she cried, “It’s Bethany!” Sobs blurred her words. “Mum’s been in a crash!”
The world spun, anger and fear colliding as I took the phone from her. “Bethany,” I barked, “Tell me she’s okay.”
Silence.
Blood roared in my ears.
“Tell me!” I thundered. “Fucking tell me my mother is okay!”
A sob ripped through the phone. “Zachary….”
I knew.
I fucking felt it deep in my bones.
Gripping the phone harder, I demanded, “Where?” When all I heard were sobs and no answer, I repeated, “Where is she?”
“Oh, God… it was a drunk driver…. Margreet was turning out of my street when he hit her. Just smashed straight into the side of her car….”
I passed the phone back to Annika. I didn’t want to hear another word that woman said. If it wasn’t for her, my mother wouldn’t be dead. If Bethany hadn’t insisted on this fucking cold war with Mum and Ivy, none of this would have happened.
I had to go to her.
To Mum.
I had to see for myself.
Fuck.
It slammed into me.
Like a movie, my life with Margreet rolled through my mind.
The day I came to live with her.
The times she held me when the night terrors claimed me.
The days she collected me from school because I got myself into another fight, and still loved me anyway.
My last day of high school when she told me she was proud of me. And that she believed I could achieve anything.
I saw the Band-Aids, the cooked meals, the kisses, the time she gave, the sacrifices, and even the lectures.
Margreet loved unconditionally.
She fucking laid her heart down and let it bleed love.
