Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(94)

“It must still show my name for the residence,” he replies.

“But you gave that house to Mom.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Because you own the deed, don’t you? You gave her the house, but you paid for it, didn’t you?”

“When I had the opportunity, I did.”

I can’t exactly put into words how this news makes me feel. Weirdly irritated with him. And strangely proud at the same time. I’ve looked up to my dad my entire life, and I’ve spent the entire time comparing myself to him. Who could live up to that?

Maybe he should have let me see him fuck up. If I ever got the chance to see my dad as a real person and not as the hero he tried to be, I wouldn’t feel like the letdown of the century.

Thank fuck the doctor walks in, dissipating the tension with her presence. She gives us the basic rundown of my injuries—severe concussion, stitches, no bleeding on the brain or anything on the CT scan. With any luck, I can go home tomorrow.

And I notice his eyes track my way when the doctor says that. Because he’s probably thinking exactly what I’m thinking. I’m sure as fuck not going back to my home with my mom. She doesn’t have a nurturing bone in her body, and as much as I love her, I think I’d rather stay with the newlyweds than listen to whatever guilt trip bullshit my mother wants to spin about this.

But let’s face it. We all know where I’m going when I get out of here tomorrow. And it’s a fucking relief that we don’t have to lie about it anymore.





My mom is acting weird. After I woke up, she and my dad coexisted peacefully in this room for twenty awkward minutes. Then, he finally relented and went home for a while to rest and freshen up.

Now, it’s just me and my mom and this lingering tension between us. I don’t know exactly what’s going on in her head, but I do know that the club she’s been slandering for over a year is the reason I’m in the hospital right now. And I’m just waiting for her to say something.

“I told you that place was trouble,” she mutters bitterly, staring out the window.

“Mom,” I reply, letting out a groan. “The club is not trouble.”

Her mouth hangs open in shock. “You were nearly killed there!”

“You’re overreacting,” I argue, but she’s already revved up and there’s no stopping her now.

“I’m overreacting? Beau, I got a call in the middle of the night that my son’s head was nearly bashed in outside his father’s club. Now, you tell me how I should react to that.”

As my eyes track up toward her face, noticing the tears welling in her lashes, I’m ambushed by guilt. She quickly blinks them away as her jaw clenches and she looks away.

“Mom, sit down.”

She’s restless, clearly not wanting to settle, almost like if she does then she’ll really break. I notice as I get older how much my mother resembles a cornered animal, anxious and aggressive because it’s her only option left.

After a few minutes, she finally gives in and takes the seat in the chair next to my bed. I sit up a little straighter to look at her.

“The man who attacked me wasn’t a member of the club,” I say, but when I see her starting to argue already, I hold up a hand. “I know you think that place is terrible, but that’s only because you’ve never been there. You don’t understand it.”

“I’m never going there,” she bites back.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to, but just because you don’t like it doesn’t make it as bad and evil as you think it is.”

She’s studying my face now, looking at me as if I'm a stranger. And I guess in some way, I am. My mother is realizing at this moment that I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a man with my own life that she knows nothing about. And she never will.

“I don’t think I can ever change your mind about Dad or the club or…me. But I don’t want you to push me away, too, just because I live the same lifestyle as him.”

At the word lifestyle her eyes widen, but she quickly shuts it down, hiding her shock as she takes my hand. “I would never push you away. I just want you to be safe.”

“I am safe, Mom,” I reply, and it’s clear she doesn’t quite agree by the way her lips tighten into a thin line, but at least she doesn’t reply. It’s a miracle—my mom learned to listen without arguing. “I’m also happy,” I continue, “a lot happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Because of this new girlfriend…” she adds, lifting her brow and giving me a questioning glance.

An unexpected smile creeps across my mouth. I never really talk about my girlfriends much with my mom, especially this one.

“Yes, because of her.”

“I’ve met her, you know,” she adds, and I force myself to swallow down how weird that is. “And I still think she’s too old for you…”

“But…?” I ask, hoping there’s a but coming.

She looks down at her hands as she shrugs. “But she’s nice.”

I bite my lip as my smile grows. If only my mom knew just how nice Maggie is, especially when she was turning my ass red with that riding crop. “Yeah, she is nice.”

“I think she could be good for you. Maybe help you get a good job so you can finally get a place of your own.” She’s joking with me about still living in her house at twenty-two, and I wish I could laugh but I’m suddenly reminded that I’m moving out of state next week and my mother should know that by now, but she doesn’t.