Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(25)

"Okay, Laura. Here."

I pull out the rest of the cash I brought. With winnings minus drinks and tip for the bartender it adds up to about six thousand. Laura stares at the pile of bills, wide-eyed.

"Take the night off. A few nights, if you can."

"Thanks."

I stand, straighten myself up, and leave the room. The door closes behind me with a heavy finality, and my head swims a bit when I comprehend that I just left six thousand dollars laying on her bed. Too late to go back and get it, now.

What the f*ck am I even doing here?

Pockets empty, I wander back down to the parking garage.

I hope Diana is having a better day than I am.





Chapter 6: Diana





My mother can be such a bitch.

"What the hell was that?" she shouts at the top of her lungs, not five minutes after Apollo and his father (whose name I haven't picked up yet, now that I think about it) drive away.

"Well, what happened was…"

"I know what happened. I want to know why you were on his lap."

Exasperated, I throw my hands up. "Maybe because I find him attractive and I thought he liked me. I didn't know his father was taking you out. We just met."

"It's we now?"

"Yes. Wait, no. What? Mom, 'we' is the plural used to refer to two humans."

Her look could cut glass. At that moment, Charity decides to walk into the kitchen, clutching her head.

"Hi," she mumbles."How did I get here?"

"Go back to sleep, Charity," Mom snaps at her.

"Oh. Okay."

She wanders back out to the couch, flops down, and is snoring inside a minute. I go over to roll her onto her side, remembering Apollo's caution against letting her vomit in her sleep. If she throws up on the antique sofa, I guess that would be my fault, too. Mom keeps quiet while I tend to my friend, at least. She doesn't start up on me until I walk back into the kitchen and start cleaning up the boxes. Mom gives me the death glare, her fists planted on her hips.

"Do you think I'm going to just drop this?"

I stand up from the garbage can and glare at her.

"Mom, I'm an adult. I met a guy I liked. I kissed him. It's not a big deal."

"You didn't just let him kiss you, he was groping you. In my house. Have you even been on a proper date?"

"No, but-"

"It doesn't matter. I forbid you to see him. You can't be carousing with my boyfriend's-"

I cut her off, wide-eyed. "Your boyfriend?"

"I'm divorced. I'm not dead. I won't have you carousing with my boyfriend's son. It's unseemly."

"Why?"

"Because it is. I won't have it, do you hear me? You won't have to worry about college, I'll toss you out of my house now."

The plate in my hands falls free, slides through the air and shatters on the floor.

"You had to bring that up, didn't you? I've made up my mind. I don't want to be a history major, Mom. I don't want to work in a museum. I don't want to be you."

Her face pinches in fury, but I see a hint of tears at the corner of her eyes, too, and that hurts. I should take back what I said. I should try to explain myself.

"Get out. Get out of my sight, right now."

I bite my lip and clench my hands into fists instead, and storm out of the room, up the stairs, and into my bedroom, where I lock the door. I throw myself across the bed and grab a pillow and hug it to my chest, and squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn't work. Burning tracks rake down my cheeks anyway. She has no right to talk to me that way.

Just once I want her to acknowledge my achievement, not just act like it's expected of me. The thing with Apollo only makes it worse. So what if his father is dating her? It's not like we're related. I choke the pillow for a while longer, until my rage subsides and I just lay there staring at nothing. I should have kept my mouth shut and did what she told me. Why did I bring this on myself?

We used to be close. We used to be friends. I want that back. Why does everything have to make things worse?

She'll come around. She's upset about what I said. I'll apologize. I know she wants me to follow in her footsteps but I'm my own person, and I don't have to. I'd be miserable. I have to find a way to make her see that, but right now I'm drawing a big blank.

By the time I manage to drift off to sleep it's some obscene hour that's closer to dawn than dusk, and I know I won't get much sleep.

I must have forgotten to set the alarm. After a dreamless night I wake up groggy around eleven thirty, swing my legs off the bed and realize I slept in my clothes. I need to get cleaned up, but I need to know the lay of the land first. I hear voices in the kitchen and work my way down quietly to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table, eating pancakes with Charity, who does not seem to grasp the significance of the fact that I am not also eating pancakes with them. Charity groggily looks over and waves at me, then slops more maple syrup on her pancakes and stuffs her mouth.

"Your friend eats like a horse," Mom says, as if she was addressing someone else.

"Thanks, mmm mmmmph," Charity blurts out through a mouthful of food.

Mom smiles at her, thinly.

"I never get to eat like this at home," Charity goes on, having swallowed.