Page 70 of Drifting

I spin around. “Who else could it be?”

She shrugs. “I’m sorry, hon. I wish there was something I could do.”

“It’s all right. She’ll get what’s coming to her. Am I grounded?” I almost chuckle when I say that. She’s never grounded me before.

“I can’t ground you if I don’t think you did it, now can I? After you ran out, I told that Webb chick that she’s being a little dramatic with suspending you. I think after school or in school detention would have been more appropriate. She told me in that nasal voice of hers that ‘that’s what the handbook dictates,’” she says, imitating Miss Webb. “I don’t like that woman.”

I laugh. “When I had my tour, she was flirting hardcore with Peter. Then, she asked if I was going to be a cheerleader like Hannah. You should have seen her face when I said hell no. You’d think the world was going to end because I said no.”

“She’s out for you, just like all her cheerleaders. You better watch yourself.” She sits on my couch and tucks her legs under her. “Now, tell me about those boys. I’m not blind, they’re more than friends. You’re using protection, right?”

I scrunch up my nose. “Ew, Mom, I’m not talking about sex with you.”

“I just want to make sure you’re protecting yourself, so you don’t end up like me. I want you to have a better life.”

I sit down on the other end of the couch. “I’m dating them,” I say low, afraid to look at her.

Her voice rises. “Both of them?”

“Them, plus Dom and Mav Knight.” I pick my nail, waiting for her to scream.

I can see she’s trying to keep her cool. “Four guys. All right. Please tell me you’re not dating your step-brother.”

Shaking my head adamantly, I say, “No, Nick is just a friend. I, uh…shit.” I run my hand through my hair. “It’s like what you said when you first met Peter. There’s a feeling, a connection.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand it.”

“I understand what you’re feeling, but I’m not sure I understand feeling it for four different guys. Won’t they get jealous of each other?”

“That’s what I said, but they talked. They all agreed they’d be cool with it. I told them I want to take it slow and see where it goes, but the minute I see any friction in their friendship, it’s over.”

“Always the sensible one. Not sure where you got that from.” She glances out the window.

“You don’t have to tell me, but what’s my dad’s name? We never really talked about him. You’ve badmouthed him, but that’s it.”

“His name was Remy Parish, but he went by Raider.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t ask me why. He was twenty-one when I met him. I was just shy of eighteen.”

“You keep saying was. Is he dead?”

Not sure how I’m going to feel if I find out he’s dead. I shouldn’t care. It’s obvious he didn’t care about me.

“Yeah, hon, I’m sorry. I looked him up not long ago, thinking maybe you might want to know him. But he passed away at twenty-six from a freak, skydiving accident. His chute didn’t open.”

“Did he even know about me?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip.

If he shut the door on Mom and was only with her for a bet, would I want him in my life, anyway?

Her whole body deflates. “No, I never had the guts to tell him.”

Well, that explains why he never showed up in my life. “What was he like? If you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind talking about him. He was you, only with guy parts. Strong, adventurous, determined, confident. Bold. People just flocked to him. He wasn’t a good person, though. He used people to get what he wanted. I’m not saying you’re like that at all,” she rushes to add. “He was tall and had dark-blond hair. You have a mixture of both our hair, but your blue eyes are his. Every time we fought, your eyes would change color, getting darker blue, almost stormy, just like his did. I’m sorry I never told you about him before.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to meet him,” I say firmly. “If you weren’t good enough for him, then he wasn’t good enough for me.”

Her hand shakes as she touches my leg. “Thank you for saying that. With everything going on, I’m getting a headache. I think I’m going to lay down for a bit.”

“I’ll be here.” I wave my hand around my room. As she smiles sadly and gets up, I say, “Mom, thanks for believing in me.”

“Always. And thanks for calling me Mom again.” She leaves the room.

---