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Matt waved his hand in the air, dismissing me, and dropped into the seat across from me. He threw a leg up over one of the armrests, twisting his body so he was more sitting sideways. His arm went up on the back. “Whatever. Act all pissy. You and I both know this is a good sign. Bailes is getting normal again. A football game. That’s good, Kash. Plus, I’m pretty sure my dad has season tickets for the company. They’re always reserved. I tried getting them last year and it was a no-go. Some of the shareholders are greedy football alum from Hawking.”
He was right.
Some of my scowl faded.
Shit. He was right.
“You couldn’t get even one ticket?”
Matt smirked. “I didn’t try too hard, but Hawking football is big.”
“There’s thirty different angles my grandfather could use to have someone hurt her there.”
Matt’s grin turned knowing. And wicked. “Like you’re not going to call and secure a private box to help eliminate twenty-eight of those ways.”
I sighed. My hand was itching to do it, but I knew I couldn’t. Because unlike Matt, I knew the real reason she said yes to the game.
“She’ll want to be in the stands.”
He caught on, real quick. “You’re right. She’ll want to be as normal as possible.”
Which meant I couldn’t call for security protocols, but I wanted to. And I might anyway.
“If she goes in as normal as possible, word might not get to him until the game is done.” Matt was following my wavelength.
Exactly.
My scowl came back. It just wasn’t directed at him. “I don’t like it.”
“But you’re not going to stop it.”
Dammit. I wasn’t going to stop it.
I eyed him instead. “Want to go to a football game tomorrow?”
That wicked grin popped back up. “Only if I can use the family’s private jet to go to Aspen later. I know you can approve that.”
“What?”
THIRTY-ONE
Bailey
“Mom.”
She glared at me as I got inside the SUV. “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. I’ve been ‘Chrissy’ for the last ten years. Don’t try to manipulate me by being all sweet and lovey.”
Yep. She was here for a fight.
And once I was settled and the vehicle was pulling forward, she started.
“You’ve been avoiding me. I don’t like when my daughter who went through a recent trauma is avoiding me, and I don’t care how big and bad your boyfriend is. A girl always needs her mama.” She turned for the window, sniffling. “Or maybe her mama needs her girl? Either way, there was a whole bunch of need happening and my girl isn’t picking up her phone.” Those eyes turned glacial again. “Stop avoiding me.”
Okay. I wasn’t going to beat around the bush, either. “I know you’re sleeping with Peter.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re my mom. He’s my dad. It’s going to mess up my mind, and I avoided your calls because I didn’t know how I felt about it.”
“You know now?”
I nodded.
“Well?” Her eyebrow arched up. “You going to keep me in suspense? I had to be all ninja-like and sequester myself in your vehicle. You think that was easy?”
I hid a grin because man, I’d missed my mom.
“I don’t want him to hurt you. That’s what I decided.”
She sucked in more breath, her head rising. She blinked a few times. “Damn. Damn.” A pause. “You tell him that?”
I nodded again.
“When?”
“What?”
“When did you tell him that?”
“Uh.” I had to retrace the days to my bathroom meltdown. “Monday.”
Her eyes grew sharp. “He was here on Monday. Said you got upset. I was waiting all week for you to call, but my phone never rang. Not from you.”
“I was out all week. I didn’t go to school.”
“What’d you do?”
I frowned at her.
“Right.” She was nodding now, glancing back out the window. “You got that man of yours. With him all week. With him all the time, but I know you. I know my daughter and I know you’ve buried your head in your studies and in him. Am I right?” Her nostrils were flaring. It was costing her to say these words. “I know I’m right. I know you better than anyone.”
“Yes. You do.” I said those words softly.
“A mother knows her child. Always does, even ones that at some point had to become the adult in the relationship. Even ones who have a brain that’s special, and especially ones with a mother who is up at all hours of the night worrying because she knows, she knows that that special child can’t stop thinking about what happened to her, because she’s got a brain that’s on constant replay.” She broke, her top lip trembling. Her voice grew hoarse. “Tell me you haven’t been reliving what happened to you over and over again. Tell me that and I’ll ease up on you a bit.”
My mouth parted. “No.” That’s what she thought? I scooted forward, laying a hand on her arm. “No, Mom.”
