My mom recoils. Even after all these years, the thought of her being scared causes something inside me to unhinge.
“We’re not calling the cops,” I bite out.
That’s when she finally looks at me…for all of two seconds.
Like she can’t bear the sight of me.
“We need a few minutes alone.”
“Of course,” Skylar says as they head for the door. “Come find me after you’re done and let me know what you want to do.”
“Wait,” I call out. “Where are Lennon and Quinn?”
“Your mom tried to make Quinn go with her against her will, so Lennon took her out to the bus.”
That explains why she wasn’t there for the song. She was protecting Quinn…because I wasn’t able to.
I’m not even surprised. That’s just who Lennon is.
Last night she told me that whenever I’m spiraling, I need to hold on to an anchor.
That’s exactly what she’s always been for me.
I thought Lennon coming back was my karma—and while that’s still true—I also think it was serendipity. Almost like the universe knew I was going to need her in order to hack seeing the woman in front of me again.
Skylar closes the door behind her, leaving me all alone…with my mother.
I always thought I’d have a million things to say to her if we ever crossed paths again.
Turns out, I only have one.
Make that two.
“You’re not taking Quinn.”
Her head whips up and I’m struck by how little she’s changed.
Genevieve Walker—or Moore—has the kind of beauty that could stop traffic.
The kind of beauty that would make a secure man appreciative she was his, but an insecure man even more insecure.
The first fight I remember overhearing involved my father ramming his fist through the wall because one of his bandmates flirted with her.
Guess the apple doesn’t fall far.
Maybe that’s why she left me. She could sense the evil inside me…lurking.
Waiting for the right fuse to set it off.
“I’m not letting you keep Quinn.” She sits up straight. “She doesn’t even know you.”
“Whose fault is that?”
She shrinks back—withdrawing—just like she always did whenever she didn’t want to talk about something.
Once again…the apple doesn’t fall far.
Too bad for her, I’m no longer seven. Upsetting my mom is no longer the plight it once was.
I want an answer to the question that’s been gnawing at my goddamn psyche since the day I woke up and realized she was gone.
She’s not leaving this room until I get it.
“Why?”
She looks down at her shoes. “If I don’t get Quinn home, there will be consequences.”
Not for Quinn. Because she’s never stepping foot inside that home again.
“The first five years you were gone, I left my window cracked open every night…hoping you’d come back for me.”
But she never did.
She closes her eyes, like my words upset her.
Good.
“I made you a card every year for your birthday until I was eleven.”
And every single year, my dad would snatch it off the table and call me stupid because I couldn’t write or spell well.
But I tried. I tried so fucking hard.
Because I wanted her to know how much I loved her.
I cried when he’d tear the card into shreds and remind me that she was never coming back.
But I didn’t cry when he beat the shit out of me.
I wanted the pain.
“The first week you were gone, I got it so bad I couldn’t walk. I kept calling out for you, hoping you’d rescue me.”
But she didn’t.
She clutches her stomach, like she’s going to be sick. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry. Does it hurt, Mom?” I laugh but there’s not a drop of humor. “You know what else hurts? Being a human ashtray. Being forced into a scalding hot shower. Being beaten with a bottle, a bat—”
“Stop it!” she cries out. “Stop!”
“Answer the question.”
Clamping her mouth shut, she shakes her head. “Just give me my daughter so I can leave.”
“What about your son?” I roar so loud she jumps. “What about the son you abandoned?” My chest coils and bile surges up my throat. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t talk about him.” Leaning in, I get close to her face, this way she can’t ignore me like she has for the past fifteen years. “You tucked me away in a closet. Just like the picture of me Quinn found.”
“Phoenix,” she chokes out, but I don’t care about her tears.
She never gave a fuck about mine.
“Why, Mom?” I kick the coffee table a few times, sending shards of wood sailing across the room. “Why?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she screams. “I wanted to take you with me, but he wouldn’t let me.”
Shocked, I stagger back. “My father?”
He never wanted me. A fact he never let me forget.
“No. The man I left your father for.” She blows out a shaky breath. “He was a cop who came to our house on a domestic dispute call one night when a neighbor called the police. He was sweet and kind…asked me to meet up for a cup of coffee so we could talk.”
“And then you ran off into the sunset. Leaving your kid to fend for himself.”
She wrings her hands. “I didn’t want to. It’s why I didn’t leave your father right away, like Chad demanded. I had to protect you.” She holds my gaze. “You’re my baby boy. I couldn’t leave you, Phoenix.”
I ignore the way the dead thing in my chest constricts. “Then why did you?”
She looks away. “Because I got pregnant with Quinn.”
I stay silent as I process what she’s saying.
She takes the opportunity to continue. “I was going to get an abortion, but Chad begged me not to. He was leaving for Chicago because he’d been offered a job on a force that paid more, and he wanted me to come with him. He said we could get married, and I’d never have to live in fear again because he’d take care of me and our child. There was just one problem.”
A tear falls down her cheek. “He didn’t want you to come with us. He didn’t like having a constant reminder that I’d been with another man.” She swallows thickly. “I had a choice to make. I could either give myself and the child I was carrying an opportunity to have a good life, or…” her voice trails off.
She doesn’t need to say the rest. The choice she made is the one I live with every day.
“How’d that work out for you?”
Sadness swims in her eyes. “Same as with your father. Things were great…until they weren’t. Quinn was two when Chad put his hands on me the first time.” Her face screws up. “She was five when he started hitting her.”
And fifteen when it stops. Because the son of a bitch will never touch her again.
“You’re not taking Quinn.”
The same way our conversation started is the same way it’s ending.
“I have to. If she doesn’t come back home tonight, he’ll…”