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When I got back to my desk, I noticed a few text messages from my mom. Shit. Usually, I caught up with her at lunch, and I didn’t like to miss our calls. I shut my door and called her back.
“Sorry I’m late to talk,” I said, putting in my earbuds to listen to her hands-free.
“I figured you were busy,” she said. I heard her shifting around pots and pans. “I got my lunch going while I was waiting.”
“What are you making?” Mom’s cooking was hit or miss.
“Some pasta. For Bruce and me.”
I muted the line and let out the heavy sigh I couldn’t hold back. “Bruce?”
“Yes. You’ve met him before? He came to my birthday party a few months ago,” she said. “Tall? Full head of salt and pepper hair? Beautiful eyes?”
“I wasn’t looking at the guy’s eyes, Mom.” I was watching him, though. Mom had been dating someone else at the time, but he was obviously interested in her. I didn’t trust him for a second and made that clear when he tried to give Mom a hug that was a touch too friendly.
“But you remember him.”
“Yes, I do.” I bit the inside of my cheek. By now, I knew that giving these men the benefit of the doubt was a useless exercise. Every single time, they showed themselves to be douchebags. I was almost impressed at how she did it, except for the fact that it stressed the shit out of me. “Is he treating you well?”
“Of course he is.” Mom sounded put out, as if I didn’t ask this every time she dated someone new. “He’s a real gentleman.”
So he was a charmer, which was worse. They always broke her heart more when they revealed who they truly were.
Mom talked about her day, a lot of which involved Bruce, and I updated her on mine. I’d told her I was seeing someone, but I hadn’t mentioned the fact that my two best friends were also seeing her, too. She was thrilled and wanted to meet her, but I wanted to ask Brooke how she felt about it first. Everything was going well, but it was still so new.
I ended the call, feeling worse than I had when I first called. Bruce had come in right at the end of the call, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I took a deep breath and focused on the view outside of my window to calm myself down. I’d bought Mom her house, but I never considered it as mine. But that feeling took over when these asshole men started getting familiar with her.
Fuck. I hated this. I hated seeing Mom get so involved, only for her to get crushed every single time. How many times had we been through this cycle in my life? Way too many for me to count.
“Hey,” Brooke said, knocking on my door. “You good? I heard that you had to fire Trevor.”
“What?” I turned, trying to shake off the haze. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Brooke frowned. Ever since her promotion, she’d taken to wearing more dresses. They all looked sexy as fuck on her, a fact I tried to focus on as she came inside.
“Are you sure? You look distraught.” She shut the door behind her and came closer.
“I’m fine,” I said. I usually craved her touch, but I kept my distance from her. “Really.”
“Stressful day?” She cocked her head to the side, studying me in a way that made me feel like I was under a microscope.
I was really falling for Brooke, but opening up about this was too much, too soon. Not that I ever did. Being worked up over the fact that my mom was dating someone? She’d probably think I was weak. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, and it was none of her business if I was feeling a certain way.
“Yep.” I looked at the tablet in her hand. “Did you want to discuss something?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped herself.
“Yeah, just the stuff with Trevor. Want to give me a run down?” She sat down on the opposite side of my desk, a look of disappointment in her eyes. It hurt me to see, but it wasn’t enough for me to start spilling my guts to her.
CHAPTER22
Chase
The line at the coffee shop downstairs was long, so I opened up social media for the first time in ages to kill time. My entire feed seemed to be Stephanie and her new fiancé—no, her husband—posing together on a beach somewhere, newly eloped. Before, I might have felt a twinge of sadness, but now, I was mostly annoyed and confused. How long ago did this happen?
Knowing that she was married made me even more confused about the last time she’d called. What had she wanted from me? How long had she dated this guy? She was so in love with him that she married him without the months of tedious wedding planning, going over seating charts and agonizing over choosing cream over ivory decorations?
“Next!” the barista called out to me.
