Headlights flashed through the house as a car turned into the driveway.
Jesus.
Fuck.
Christ.
I jumped up from where Trace had pulled me down to the couch, on his lap. Or more accurately, I leaped off of him. What were we doing?
Right. The house. Was everything okay? Cleaned?
It was. The place was sparkling, it was so clean. All the blankets were folded and put in the blanket basket she had in the corner. We’d cleaned out all of the empty booze bottles, and I meant all of them. There were a ton. Trace told me he’d scheduled a recycling and trash pickup specially for everything we’d sorted through today.
The house looked like it’d been given half of a renovation, it was that much of a change.
And dammit, I was almost shaking.
I could see her coming up the driveway. Bear was behind her, bringing her bags.
She’d gained weight. I turned to Trace, wondering if he saw that too. That was usually a good sign, weight gain. The skin would glow too. But he was watching me instead, and the love shining from him took my breath away.
I forgot, for just a moment, where we were. What was happening. It was him and me, and me feeling how he felt about me.
My lips parted, my whole body feeling like it was glowing instead, but then I heard the front porch squeak under someone’s weight.
They were coming in.
It was a matter of seconds now.
The key went into the lock.
I heard her say something to Bear but couldn’t make it out. The pounding in my ears muted everything else out, but the door was swinging open.
I moved to the middle of the living room, smoothed my hands down my pants. They were sweating.
She came inside and stopped. Her mouth parted as she took in the house. Her gaze went up, around, and slowly, so slowly, she found me.
“Hi.” I started to move forward but jerked back because that was too much.
I didn’t want to scare her off.
“Hi.” She was blinking. There was no reaction on her face. She glanced around, seeing Trace and stopping there. “Hi.”
He stepped up beside me, a hand coming to the small of my back. “Hello.”
Bear moved forward, seeing us, but going and putting the bags down by the stairs. His gaze sharpened on me but fell to where Trace’s hand was, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “See you got my text.” He gave the house a scan. “Assuming you did this? Must’ve worked all day at it.”
“Trace helped.”
“Oh.” From my mom, but sounding just surprised. No judgment.
Bear’s gaze hardened. He didn’t comment.
“Pat.” My mom touched his biceps. “I think I need some time with my daughter. Is that okay?”
“You want me to stay but give you space?” The words were directed to my mom, but his gaze hadn’t moved from Trace.
“No. I’m okay. I think Trace would be willing to take my bags to my room?”
“Of course.”
Bear glared at him as he went over, picked the bags up, and took them upstairs.
“Chelsea—” Bear started.
“No.” Her hand was still on his arm, but she was focused on me.
I swallowed over a knot in my throat. I’d not seen that look from her in years, not since I was little. It was my mom, and I had no idea how to process that. Anger surged up, but that was weird. I pushed that down. She frowned a little. “I’m good, Patrick. You’ve been kind to come and get me. Bring me back all the way here, but I need some time with my daughter.”
“Chelsea.”
“Bear.” She was firm this time. “I’m good.”
He opened his mouth, but she flashed him a look, and he closed it. He glanced my way. “Time off seems to suit you, Jessie girl. You look good. You and your mama both look good.” He came over, hugged me, and said to my ear, “He does anything, you let me know. Okay? I don’t care who he controls. No one messes with my family.”
I hugged him back. “Thank you, Bear.” I wasn’t going to focus on the rest because there were some bad feelings between me and him, specifically from me at him as he’d pushed me out, then given my mom an ultimatum. Then again, maybe it had worked? She wasn’t cursing at me, looking for some booze, and kicking me out. Or she wasn’t doing any of those yet.
Time would tell if anything had actually changed.
He left, and then it was my momma and me. My mom. Mother. What the fuck did I call her now? I had no idea.
I settled with “Chelsea.”
Sadness flashed in her gaze before she lowered her head. Sighing. “I deserve that, I guess. No. I do. I know I do.”
Panic seized me. “What?”
She lifted her head up, that “mom” look back in effect.
I didn’t like that look. Felt wrong. Like she was seeing me with the wrong clothes. Made my skin feel like it hadn’t settled right on my body.
“You cleaned the house?”
I nodded. “With Trace’s help, like I said.”
Her eyes grew distant, and she nodded. “I’m getting that.” She began to look around before barking out a laugh. “God. Look at us. You’re acting like you got caught stealing money for school lunch, and here I am, nervous like I’m going on my first date. I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know what’s in my own kitchen.”
I jerked forward again. “We cleaned everything out.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You just got out of rehab, Mom.”
Another sad smile from her. “I was thinking tea or water. It’s good you cleaned everything out.”
“Oh.” My god. I was making this so much worse than it needed to be. “I’m staying here.”
“What?”
“I—” Such a mess. “I—I got suspended without pay. And I lost my job at the nightclub. I’m trying to be smart, thinking ahead, trying to keep what little bit of money I have saved up. You weren’t here. I didn’t know when you’d be coming back. I hope—Jesus. I hope you don’t kick me out.”
“You did all this because you need a place to stay?”
What? “No! I did all this because I was terrified you’d come here, be pissed I moved myself in, and we’d go back to you hating me. I, just, if you don’t want me here, tell me. I’ll figure something else out. I can’t be the reason you start drinking again.”
Her eyes widened. “You think I’d blame you if I started drinking again?” she whispered.
“Mom.” Dammit. My voice was all raspy too. Emotions were blocking my throat. “You tried to kill yourself. I couldn’t—don’t ever do that again. Please don’t. I can’t—” Grief rose up, taking me over. I couldn’t function.
Who was this person? I didn’t like her much. Her was me. I was talking about myself.
“Okay. First.” My mom’s voice rose, getting sharp. “I did not try to kill myself.”
I paused because . . . huh?
“You didn’t?”
She shook her head, a whole look of wisdom shining through. I knew I’d never seen that side from her. Rehab did do wonders. “No.” She was firm. “I didn’t. I was drunk, and I got mixed up with what meds I could take with alcohol and which ones I couldn’t. I had a splitting headache that wouldn’t go away, so they were wrong in their initial assessment, but they also weren’t wrong because I did almost kill myself. It was by accident. I’ve done a lot of therapy to know that I’m not suicidal. I’m not built that way, but I am angry, bitter, and getting older. I have a lot of regrets and yeah. Holy shit. I thought I’d have some time before doing this with you.”
I flinched. Again, it was my fault. Again, I was the problem.
“Okay. I’ll . . .” What would I do?
Go to Trace’s?
“You what?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Trace and I got back together, or I think we did. I can go to his place.”
“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. My god. Do we have anything here to drink?” She went to the kitchen. I trailed as she was opening the fridge. “And everyone can relax because I’m not asking about booze. Tea? Something.” She was looking at what was inside. “Oh. You said you cleaned everything out, not that you stocked the whole place up again. Lots of green juice. What are these things?” She pulled out a bottled drink.
“It’s a probiotic drink. They’re healthy for you.”
“How the fuck you pronounce that? Komb-agch-aw?”
I laughed. “Close enough.” I moved around her, moving the water aside. “There’s lemonade, and I have a whole pitcher of tea.”
She was looking at me.
I stepped back. “I remembered how you used to love tea when I was little.”
“You remembered that?”
I shrugged, looking away, not knowing what the hell was going on. Where was Trace? Didn’t take a half hour to put her bags away. “You made the stuff all the time. Tea in summer. Then it was hot tea in the fall and winter. I loved that shit too.”
“Thank you.”
I paused, hearing the break in her voice.
She was fighting back tears, and she touched her hand to my cheek.
I froze. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched me like this. With affection.
“You always did take care of me back then. Nice that you’re doing it again. I started drinking tea again at the treatment center. I think it soothes my soul or some shit like that.”
I cracked a grin, getting a glimpse of my old mom there. “That’s good to hear, Mom.”
Her eyes grew watery again, and she pulled her hand away. “You cleaned. You remembered how I used to love tea, and now you’re calling me Mom again. How’d I luck out getting a daughter like you?”
Oh-kay. I was fully frozen in place. The old Chelsea Montell would next be spitting out how I ruined her life. Or something like that. I was waiting for it, already hardening up inside.
“I got a lot of apologies to make, a lot of regrets that’ll haunt me forever, but you. You being here. You still taking care of me. I never did anything to deserve this. Thank you, Jess. I mean it.” The tears started to fall from her eyes.
I frowned. “Mom?”
She ignored them, regret flashing bright in her gaze. “I’d love for you to stay as long as you want. This place will always be yours, and I mean that. Literally. I changed my will when I was in treatment. Got ahold of my lawyers and had them put the house in your name. You’re the owner. Your man helped make all that happen.”
She said that almost casual, off the cuff, as she reached for her tea and took it to the cupboard. She opened one, reached for a cup, and asked, grabbing a second one, “You want some?”
I let the fridge door shut behind me. “What’d you just say?”
She put the second cup down on the counter. “I was asking if you wanted some tea?”
“No,” I ground out. “About the other stuff.”
“The house? You own it. You’ve been paying the bills. It’s your house. I mean, look at the place. You’re the one who cleaned it up. You’re already putting your stamp on it, but it’s yours.”
“No.” Everything in me tensed up. “About the other shit, about my man making this all possible.”
She frowned. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No.” My voice was hoarse because what did that mean? Any of it? All of it? “He did not.”
“They weren’t helping her.” Trace was in the doorway, and he eased in as if he’d been listening for a while. “Bear and Leo weren’t going to help her. I pulled strings, saw the proposed treatment for her. Thirty days, but she wouldn’t be in a facility. She’d stay here and go in every day for individual and group therapy. It wouldn’t have worked. She needed more, so I made it possible.”
“You paid?”
“I paid. I did everything. She needed intensive long-term therapy, and it’s not done. She’s not done. She has daily group therapy, and she sees a counselor three times a week. She’s also going to do community service. I believe she’s volunteering at a local animal shelter.”
I had no idea how to process any of this. I turned to my mom, who had frozen in place too. She shrugged, holding up a hand. “I thought you knew.”
“An animal shelter?”
“I loved animals. You remember when we had that dog when you were little?”
“Barnabee.”
“Yeah. Such an idiot. Not a clue his breed, but didn’t matter. He was the best thing that we got in this house. Besides you kids, of course.”
“He took off one night. I never knew why.”
“He didn’t take off. I gave him away.”
“What? Why?” How many more punches could I take today?
“Your dad would’ve killed him. Always threatening. Didn’t like how you took to him, how I took to him. Even Isaac loved him. Your dad wasn’t one to believe someone or something else was getting more love than him. I found him a good home so you’d not grow up knowing your dad killed him.”
I was rocked by all of this. “What family?”
“He passed a few years ago, but we can go over there. They send me Christmas cards every year. I’ll show you the pictures they sent of him. They have three kids. The little girl had bad depression, and Barnabee helped her a lot—that’s what they shared with me. Seems right judging by the photos. He’s half on the girl’s lap in every one of them.”
A choked sob ripped from me.
I couldn’t begin to comprehend any of this.
“I have to go. I need to do . . .” something. Anything. I needed to not be here. “I don’t know. I just can’t be here right now.” I shoved forward, but Trace reached for me.
“Hey.” He stopped me, his hand resting on my hip.
My skin burned where he was touching me. I didn’t want to be touched right now, but that wasn’t the truth. I did. I needed it, but I didn’t feel worthy of being touched. It was a hard pill to swallow, but I fought it, taking his touch.
I soaked it in, needing it, and I touched him back, resting against him.
“Hey. Hey.” My mom came forward, her voice insistent. “Listen to me. Okay? Just listen.”
I turned, slowly.
Now she looked how I felt moments ago. Uneasy. On edge. Cautious.
A twinge of desperation lined her voice too. “Listen. I thought you knew about your man helping me. I did.”
“I asked to come see you. I wanted to be there for you. You blocked me from the visitor list.”
“I know.” She grimaced, her face twisting up. “I was going through a lot. The therapy dredges up everything. I didn’t want you coming and seeing me going through that because I didn’t want to do more damage. I know how I am, how I can be. I wasn’t handling everything the right way, you know, where I take accountability. It’s easy for me to lash out, especially at you, but I’m wrong to do that. I needed to go through everything and get a grip on myself before seeing you. I just didn’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ve already done so much to you. I’m sorry, Jessie. I am.” More tears were sliding down her face, but her voice was strong. “I’m happy you’re here, and please don’t leave. Please. Stay. I . . . I got a lot of years to make up to you. Let me start by, I don’t know. Making new tea? How about that? I’ll make you that chai stuff you like.”
It was so ludicrous that I barked out a laugh. “I hated chai tea. Isaac liked that stuff.”
“What? He did? You didn’t?”
“I didn’t. Never. I like the sweet tea you always make, but not chai tea.”
“Oh. I never knew that.”
Oh, good Lord. And I was actually talking to Him. Some of the tension eased from me, like a leaky toilet bowl. It was messy. So much crap had happened inside it, but it was slowly emptying out. Such a waste in some ways too.
“You’ll stay? This tea you have is good. I can work with it, make it like the sweet stuff.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll stay then?”
I nodded. “I’ll stay.”
Her smile was blinding.
I didn’t know this woman. I don’t think I ever met her in my life. But I shared a look with Trace and went to sit at the table while she busied herself in the kitchen.
I think I wanted to get to know her.
