A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(107)

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.”