Page 65 of Filthy Secret
I hardly ever ask him to put on his headphones, usually just when I’m having a conversation with Rose that isn’t for kid ears. Which honestly didn’t happen often. Typically, it would be about my sister and whatever antics she was pulling at the time.
“Please,” I whisper.
He runs to his room, and I count one, two, three, four before he comes back, his headphones on his ears. Once he’s safely on the sofa, I turn back to the chaos around me, although Grover is doing well to contain said chaos. And I appreciate that more than he could ever know.
“Nash, let me come outside?” I say, posing it more as a question rather than a statement. Tipping my head back, I look up at him as he turns to look over his shoulder at me.
“I’ll stay with Adam,” he murmurs, though I can tell he doesn’t want to let me near this woman.
He knows my mother from the past. He has to. There was a reason my sister ran off to party at the Dark Horse MC all those years ago, and the reason was that my mother partied there, too, before she got her ass kicked out for reasons unknown to me, and I don’t want to know them either.
I move toward the door, and Grover steps to the side to allow me to pass, but he stays close behind me as my mother steps backward, down the steps, and stands in the middle of the sidewalk. I open my mouth, then snap my lips closed, unsure of what to say to this woman, this stranger.
Grover isn’t as quiet as me. “What the fuck do you want, bitch?” he grinds out.
“I’m not talking to you, trash. I’m talking to my daughter.”
Calling my mother a bitch is appropriate, but what isn’t appropriate is calling Grover trash. I take a good look at her and am not surprised to discover that she looks as if she’s aged twenty years in the eleven I’ve been gone.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Her eyes find mine. They hold my gaze for a moment, and for a split second, I can see lucidity in her gaze before it vanishes. That lucidity is replaced with hatred and what I refer to as the wrath. My mother wasn’t just neglectful and abusive. She was also mean. She was cruel and never, not once, apologized for it.
“I haven’t seen my daughter in eleven years. I find out she has a kid. I’m a grammy. So, I’m here.”
She sways slightly. She’s drunk or high, maybe even both. Probably both. “Ellen visit you?” I ask.
My mother takes a step toward me, but Grover doesn’t let her get far. He steps slightly in front of me, blocking her from getting too close. I appreciate that because I’ve felt the sting of my mother’s hand more than once.
“Doesn’t matter. I want to see you, see my grandbaby.”
“No,” I state.
The way her eyes flash, I know she’s getting ready to attack. I don’t let her. But I also don’t hide behind Grover. Stepping toward her, I square my shoulders and look into her eyes, never breaking contact.
“You will not see my child. Turn your ass around and leave right now.”
“How dare you? I am your mother.”
Shaking my head once, I try to remain as calm as possible. Inwardly, I am trembling. I’ve never stood up to my mother. When I left, I just packed my things and walked away. She didn’t care. I was eighteen and was no longer useful to her.
“No. You are the woman who birthed me, but you are not my mother. Please leave, and if you come back here, I will call the police.”
Her shoulder jerks, her eyes shift to meet Grover’s, and her lips curve up into an evil-looking grin. “You’re not going to call the cops,” she says, her voice coming out on a purr. It’s sexual and creeps me way the hell out.
In fact, it makes me physically ill. My mother, in general, makes me physically ill. The way she’s making eyes at Grover just adds something a bit special to that overall sensation. And even though I know it shouldn’t, it fills me with instant jealousy.
“He might not,” I grind out. “But I sure as shit will. Turn around and walk away.”
Her eyes flash as she shifts her attention back to meet mine. “How dare you talk to me this way,” she hisses.
Taking one step forward, then another, I lean over slightly, bending at the waist before I speak to her. And when I do, I make sure she knows I’m serious. This conversation is finished, and I won’t stand to hear her for another second.
I haven’t thought about her in eleven years, other than being filled with relief that I don’t have to deal with her. And I am indeed filled with complete and total relief. I never want to see her or speak to her again. I want to forget she exists.
“I have no respect for you. I never did. Leave. Now. If I ever see you again, I’ll call the police, or maybe I’ll just call Atomic so he can deal with you. Either way, you are nothing, and I never want you in my space ever again.”
With that, I don’t even wait for her response, mainly because her response doesn’t mean shit. Turning around, I walk away from her and head back into the house. She screams obscenities, but I don’t care. They roll off my back.