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And this woman, this creature who abandoned her child, who chose to blame everyone but herself for her problems, and who reminded me too much of my own mother, thought she was owed the world because she pouted and fluttered her eyelashes and stomped her feet.
I composed myself and went to the door. Seeing her, my brain stalled. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, but she looked immaculate. Straight off the cover of a fashion magazine. Her make-up was on point and there wasn’t a single strand of hair out of place. How was that possible with a messy bun?
On the other hand I was in yoga pants, my shirt had paint stains on it, and I wore the same basic ponytail I’d pulled my hair into when I got up this morning.
I could stand here and feel inadequate, or I could remember the woman in front of me had hurt so many people I cared about, and it was unlikely she gave a shit about any of those consequences. Who the fuck cared how good she looked?
“Hi, Hon. I got your information from your brother. Do you have a minute?” Isabella’s voice was fake sugar and syrup.
There was no way Andrew told her where I lived. Did she steal it off his desk? I could withdraw from the fakeness, maybe counter it with my own, but I was done being polite. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. Not for you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Isabella’s mask faded in a blink.
I returned the same phony smile she’d given me both times we met. “I believe you heard me the first time. I don’t have a minute for you. You’re a myopic, narcissistic creature who seems to delight in the attention of others, no matter how good or bad, regardless of how it hurts anyone, and I will not feed that craving in you.” I started to swing the door shut.
“I-came-to-apologize.” Isabella’s run-together words made me pause. “I just needed Joystick to know he’d hurt me. This was never about you.”
“No, because it was only ever about you. You like living alone in your own little Isabella world, where you’re the queen and everyone else bows to your whims as you spit on them from your glass tower? I’m done wasting words on you, because you’re not worth it.” This time I let the door swing shut despite the string of protests that faded to her calling me fat old cow, right before I closed my house off from her.
I leaned against the heavy object between me and her, listening to her ring the bell. Hammer on with her fist. Shout another string of obscenities—this time in Italian—and I took one deep breath after another to try to calm myself.
It wasn’t working.
Lucas stared at me with wide eyes. What was he thinking?
The noise Isabella was making stopped.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins regardless. Did I really just…? I should feel bad, right? I was waiting for that guilt.
It wasn’t there. I’d been justified in telling her what I did. In shutting her out of our lives that way.
Lucas threw his arms around my neck. “You are the coolest mom ever. Holy shit. That was amazing. You cut her down like a Japanese sword, but with words. You were allsnick, snick, fuck you bitch, and wow. Is that what you did to Dr. Allman?”
“The details are different. The mechanics are the same.” My mind raced, but without thoughts. It was all a blur of self-directed disbelief.
The bell rang again, and I whirled, ready to stare Isabella down without saying a single word to her, while I called the police to deal with a trespasser.
My brain crumbled into a pile of wordless ooze when I saw Joystick and Eli standing on my stoop instead.
Joystick somehow managed to smile in a way that was both sweet and promised so many sinful things. “Hey. Missed you.”
“Me too.” Eli grasped my fingertips and kissed the back of my hand.
What?
Joystick rested his palm on the side of my face and brushed his lips over mine. The touch was so soft, so barely there, that I reached for the sensation when it was gone, needing just a hint more.
“How do you lead with that? That’s not fair.” Eli’s protest yanked the threads loose that had stalled the gears in my brain.
Joystick looked confused. “You kissed her fucking hand. Why am I the one in the wrong?”
“A kiss like yours melts a person’s brain. Look, you broke her.” Eli gestured at me.
“I’m not broken.” My vocal cords spit out the words before my brain finished processing them.
I wasn’t, was I? Not that I ever thought of myself as broken, but for as long I’d pulled away from admitting I was worthy of more than the basics, I might be. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer our messages,” Joystick said.
