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You do what you gotta do—that’s my motto.
Just so long as that “gotta doing” doesn’t return an abused daughter to her abuser…
“Thanks, Patricia,” I say huskily as I walk over to the large table, watching as she places a scone on a dish then pats the table for me to take a seat beside her. The butter and berries smell amazing. If I wasn’t completely depressed, I’d eat three of them.
“Here, this will put a smile on that pretty face.” Patricia sits down as she pours the tea. “In the US, it’s all about the coffee. Even my girls are hooked on it. But nothing beats a pot of tea to make the world right.”
I think it’ll take more than that, but I just tell her, “You know you don’t have to wait on me.”
“Nonsense. I’m thrilled you’re here,” she says briskly, but her expression is sincere.
There’s something that reminds me of my mom in her eyes. Maybe it’s just that “mom thing,” or I’m so desperate I’m making it up, but Patricia’s kindness has helped me feel less alone. No matter what happens, if Cade fixes this or doesn’t, I’ll always be grateful for her easing my anxiety today.
“So, tell me about L.A.?” She adds some sugar to her tea. “When did you move?”
I take a bite of the scone and groan at how good it tastes. “You’re an incredible baker.”
She takes a small bite of hers then watches me glance at my phone again as she murmurs, “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
Still no message.
I’m putting all my faith in the man who led me into this mess. But worse than anything, I’m mostly worried about him—what if he’s not able to do anything and he ends up getting hurt himself?
“Isabelle, this is all going to be okay,” Patricia soothes, but her voice still makes me jump.
This woman has had six children, buried a son and husband, and still gets up and smiles and enjoys life. I’ve always wondered how some people seem to have a strength in them that makes them able to pick themselves up and continue, while others crumble and fall apart.
I used to think I was one of those people who fell apart, but maybe I’m not. Sure, at first, I freaked out, but now, I’m just waiting for the fallout. Then I’ll adjust and overcome. Isn’t that what I’ve always done?
“I don’t mean to be such a terrible guest. I’m sorry—”
She tuts. “Drink your tea and tell me about Los Angeles. Do you see a lot of movie stars? I think I heard Kitty telling Neev that one of your friends is married to a rock star.” She leans back and crosses her legs, looking genuinely interested, which of course I’m sure she’s not and is only trying to distract me, but I’m grateful.
I drop a cube of sugar into my tea. “Are you familiar with a band called the Stuffed Muffins?” At the look on her face, I gather she’s not. I wave my hand and take a small sip of her dark tea. I don’t know what kind she brews, but it’s delicious. “Anyway, Axel—he’s married to my friend Antoinette—used to be, well, he still is a musician, but he’s friends with Rhys Granger.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him.” And my mouth twitches because you’d have to be dead not to have heard of Rhys Granger.
“Well, I know Axel better because my best friend Charlie is married to David, and both Axel and David are part of a… motorcycle club called Disciples.” I look at her to see her reaction but she just nods her head as I continue. “Yes, well, I used to hang out with them a lot.” I take another sip of tea, watching her watch me.
I don’t know how much she knows, but come on, her boysarepart of the mob.
“And Charlie is the one that gave you a job in that diner?” She passes me some jam. “In Burbank, no?”
“Yes, she’s my best friend. Well… all of them are really. There’s Charlie, Eve, Dolly, Antoinette, Doug, and...”
My mind naturally goes to Julianna who I can’t say is a friend, but that’s not on her. For the first time in a while, I think about Ryder inthatway, and I realize that all the things he used to say to me are clear.
He knew.
It’s not that he didn’t care about me. It’s just that his heart is with someone else. Jesus, he was right about me not loving him; I loved the idea of him. I loved feeling secure, but more than that, I loved the feeling of having the Disciples as my family.
So, I tack on, “Julianna.”
As she adds some jam to her scone, she asks softly, “And your family?”
I bite my lip. “Theyare my family.”
“Yes, but your mother?”
