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I don’t respond. I can’t. Because whatever I say is going to be along the lines of, I don’t freaking think so and go back home. Neither of which she’ll listen to, and then she’ll throw guilt at me for giving me life and paying for college and allowing me the time and space after the shooting last year. I’m already getting worked up, and I feel my chest tightening as I grab my phone and run out the door to sit on the step. Wishing more than anything that Joss was here.
It’s too early to call her; she’s a night owl, so I send a text instead.
Me: SOS. Mom showed up. Extraction needed.
I flood her with laughing emojis as well, so she knows I’m alright, but I don’t believe I am. The moisture on my cheeks indicates that I’m not. I wipe the tears away using my shirt sleeve, but they just keep spilling over.
My mother is not someone that should have had children. I know that’s terrible to say because she did give me life, but she was never there for me. Always more concerned about how she looked, howImade her look. When I was shot, she made it all about her. When my father forced me to tell them why I was home from South Africa six months early, and I filled them in on what happened, it circled back to her again.
She has never once asked me how I’m doing, how the nightmares are. If I’m getting counseling. Nothing. There is no concern for me whatsoever over what I survived, only that she nearly lost her only child twice in a year. To most people, her reaction appears caring, but she wasn’t there in the hospital after any of the three surgeries I had. Not during recovery. Barely when I was home again.
I love her, but I don’t like her very much.
The phone rings in my hand as I’m wiping my eyes, and I answer without looking at it because I assume it’s Joss. “Hello?”
“Pet.” That one word. Three letters. “Breathe, pet.” This can’t be real.
“Cage?” I exhale the word as I try to catch my breath.
“Yeah, pet, it’s me.” His accent is so faint, but it bleeds through as tears cascade down my face.
Sobs jostle my body. I knew I missed him but hadn’t realized how much. “How…?”
“Look up.” I do. “Wave to the nice boys.” I do that too. They wave in kind. “They’ve been watching ya for me.” I’ve seen them around more and more lately, but I would never have guessed. “Care ta tell me why yer crying?” His accent grows thicker now, different than I remember, with his worry bleeding through.
My head shakes back and forth. “No. If you want to know, then you have to be here.”
“Yer the one who left me, pet.” The reminder cramps my heart.
“I know.” I squeak the words out, hating the reminder.
“I don’t begrudge ya, pet, but it’d be nice ta know why ya fucked and fled like that.” I cringe at the description, but he’s not wrong.
“Because you said…you said…” The words won’t form because if they were true then, then what if he says the same about our baby?
“I said what, pet?” Horns blare, and a foreign language can be heard spoken in the background, and I wonder where he is.
“You’ll have to come to me to find out that answer.” I have no idea if he will or not.
“That so?” His voice drops an octave; it’s the same tone he took when he told me he was going to fuck me dirty. I still blush, reliving his filthy words that day.
“Yes,” I breathe.
* * *
Cage
I hadn’t planned on calling her.
But when the street boys began sending me photos of her crying on her front step, I couldn’t hold back. I needed to know she was alright. The second she answered the phone, her fate was sealed. Hearing her breathy voice again has turned my body rigid—to stone. I want only one thing, and that’s her.
“Cage?” She keeps telling me that if I want answers, I must come to her. Quite the bargaining tool she’s acquired.
“Yeah, pet, I’m here.”
Prague is taking longer than expected, and I’m growing annoyed with having to maintain a Scottish accent. Unfortunately, there’s no way around it. Asher McCall calls the shots, and His Royal Highness is a pain in my arse. He wants me to delve deeper and find out if any more troops are committing the same atrocities as the ones I’ve taken out already. Thankfully, he didn’t need me to make it look like an accident.
He required a bold statement.
