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“Hey, Lix.”
“Yeah?” I stop with my hand on the door, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“Don’t be afraid to go after what you want.”
“Oh big bro, us Daxons”—I hold my grin—“are not afraid of anything.”
“Oh-ho, you’ve never seen Cassie mad.”
I laugh and make it out the door.
Well, that was fucked up. Brett’s not a talk-about-your-emotions kind of guy. Did he just advise me to go after Chosen?
Give me permission is more like it.
I never know where he’s coming from. It’s hard to tell with his flat expressions.
One thing is for sure. He’s glad Chosen is no longer a threat. So am I.
I’m torn between being pissed at her and losing her.
Fuck. I’m not ready to let her go.
I wanted to help her. Answer all her questions. Give her a reason to trust me. To believe in me.
It killed me that I couldn’t.
I sit in the cold plastic chair, glued to the door where they release the inmates. I went half my childhood without seeing Mom, but these past six months have been hell. It’s one thing to be caught in the web of a system you can’t get out of, but it’s another when she’s been right here, and I fucked up my chances of seeing her.
I got lost in my head. My brothers thought I requested two days a week off from the escort service to date, get laid, and get shit-faced. But I was in the ring, taking whatever beatdown I could for my past mistakes. The problem was, I was good and rarely lost a fight. So when I couldn’t get the punishment owed to me in the ring, I started drinking until all that shit went down that got me into this mess with Mom. Then I finally turned my shit around.
The door opens. The inmates pile out. I find Mom. Her smile brings me to my feet. Fuck. It’s good seeing her.
“Felix,” she says, her blue eyes brightening. She inspects me from head to toe like I’m five and just came in all muddy from being outside all day. “I missed you,” she says, taking me in for a few more seconds. “I wish I could hug you.” She lowers into the chair across from me.
“Soon, Mom.” I sit down. “You look good.”
“Yes. These jumpsuits are very pretty.” She plucks her top. “They’re talking about changing the color. The girls are excited.” She laughs.
Excitement over a color change in clothes. It pisses me off, but her laughter breaks my dark mood.
“Enough about me.” Her cheeks flush. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” I look away, spotting the vending machine. Guilt hits my mangled gut. I should’ve bought Mom something. “Working and stuff.”
“And that reporter?”
“Chosen, she’s gone.”
“Gone?” I hear the traction in her tone.
“Yeah. She got what she wanted.”
“What did she want?”
“What we all want.” I meet her awaiting stare. “The truth.”
“Sometimes the truth can hurt.” Mom studies me. “Did you hurt her?”
