“I thought my tigress would put up a lot more fight,” Drew said in mock disappointment. “I have to go back inside because I’m freezing. But you can have this.” He placed the cigarette between my fingers and trotted down the fire escape.
I lifted the cigarette, only to discover it was nearly burned to the filter. The bastard. Although I laughed.
“Well played, sugar. Well played,” I mumbled.
At least he’d be walking around with a hard-on to tolerate.
And that wasn’t a bad result, if I did say so myself.
Chapter Seventeen
Drew
I whistled as I walked from Paths of Purpose to where my mother was recovering from her treatment. This visit had been most productive. I’d learned two important nuggets of information about Sonya Hughes. First and foremost, though I already knew, she wanted me. That look on her face when she demanded I kiss her—it had taken all my strength not to devour her right then and there. If it weren’t for trying to keep her on the hook, I’d have done just that. But she wanted a challenge, so that was what I’d give her. I was looking forward to the chase.
Secondly, she had a connection to Park City. I was certain she’d given Paths of Purpose an alias, but lo and behold, after some deep digging, I’d found that Sonya was indeed her real name. I’d yet to unearth any employment ever. She’d gone to Yale, from which she’d graduated summa cum laude in architecture. After that, there was nothing. Who the fuck would go to an Ivy League school, put that much effort into graduating with honors, and then never do anything with it?
Her father was a successful building contractor in Utah. They had plenty of money. Not the kind my family did, but then, most people didn’t. I understood she probably didn’t want to go running to them with her problems and respected her independence, but I was missing something. The only way I’d get to it was if she let me in. I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. I’d have to steal my way inside. That was definitely something I was good at. But why did I want to? That was the question . . .
* * *
When I arrived at Mama’s room, she was sleeping soundly, not a soul in sight. I sat with her. My father couldn’t be far way, and he’d raise holy hell when he found me here, but he was just going to have to get over it. I’d meant what I said. He wasn’t keeping me away from her.
I watched her chest go up and down with her breathing. She looked peaceful, though her color was still off. My mother had never once complained about the cancer. She didn’t even seem scared. The woman was tougher than Easton, Dad, and me combined. She couldn’t leave us. I refused to let her go.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I said, my hand covering one of hers. “I never meant to hurt you, especially with the—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word cancer out loud. “My problem was never with you. I’ve let you down a lot over the years, but I never doubted you loved me.
“I wish I could change things, but I can’t forgive Dad. I just can’t even though I know that would make you happy.” I looked down, taking in a deep breath. “But I guess that’s probably what you expect of me anyway.”
Sleepily, her eyes blinked open. A weak smile lit her face. “Drew.”
“Hey, Mama. I’m here. I have been the whole time.”
“I know, baby.” She turned her hand over and squeezed mine.
“Are you thirsty? Let me get you some water.” I didn’t wait for her answer, practically jumping out of the chair to pour ice water into the plastic glass on the bedside table. I held the straw to her lips, and she sucked a little down, nodding when she’d had enough.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded stronger now that she wasn’t parched.
I returned the cup to the table and sat. She reached for my hand again, and I took it. “You look good. Like you’re ready to take on Fifth Avenue.”
A laugh bubbled up. My mother wasn’t a frivolous spender, but she did love her shopping. “I’m getting there. Think they’d let me in the boutiques in this gown?”
I glanced at the pale pink hospital gown with a smile. “I’ll make sure they will,” I promised. “You tell me where you want to go first, and I’ll make it happen.”
“You’d go shopping with me?”
“I’m getting old, but I can hold a lot of bags.” I flexed an arm, and she laughed again, though her head sank with the effort.
“I’m going to hold you to it.”
“That goes both ways.”
Her eyes zeroed in on me, like they always did when she knew I’d been up to something. How mothers knew that shit was a great mystery of life. “Tell me about her.”
“What?”
“You’ve met someone,” she said firmly, so confident it blew me away.
“There’s not really anything to tell.”
“You like her.” How the hell could she know things I didn’t even know?
“She’s . . .” I searched for a word to describe Sonya and couldn’t come up with anything remotely adequate. “There’s something under the surface I want to know, which makes no sense because I don’t even think she’s a good person. But there’s more than what she shows.”
“You recognize her. A kindred spirit.”
I frowned. Mama had always been a straight shooter, but if I heard her correctly, she wasn’t sure if I was a good person either. And she’d be right . . . I suppose. Evidence points that way. “I guess I do.” A kind of relief came over me at the realization. My tigress wasn’t perfect, but who the hell was I to pass judgment?
“I want to meet her,” she said. “Don’t look so surprised. I need to see this woman. If there’s something about her you like, I want to know her too.”
“I’ve been kind of an asshole to her.”
Mama gave me an unimpressed look. “Kinda?”
I shrugged, guilty as charged. “As weird as this is going to sound, I think she likes it.” I smirked at the thought of her feisty side. “She’s tried to knee me in the crotch twice.”
“Classic hair-pulling on the playground,” Mama deduced, amused.
“Something like that.”
“How did you meet?”
I hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “Paths of Purpose.”
Her lips parted before they pressed into a flat line. “Drew Harris.”
“She’s not like the other women there. I still think she got the black eye during a bar fight.”
“Drew!”
“What? Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. She wasn’t beat up by a boyfriend, which is her story, and I assure you she isn’t scared of men. Some of those women are. I promise I haven’t done anything to make them uncomfortable. I’m a jackass, but not to women and kids who have been hurt.” I let out a huff of frustration, always finding myself on the defensive when it came to my character. That was my own fault, but it got old.
“I know you wouldn’t dare do anything ill-willed toward the people there. That’s not what I meant, though it came out that way. Forgive me.”