Page 119 of Lace 'em Up

Except when I’d dropped a bomb on a woman I’ve grown to care about.

After she’d been confronted by one of the psychos my mom had set me up with…and that woman, who’d made a single blind date a nightmare that wouldn’t quit, had a mother who my mother was—for some reason—friends with.

What the actual fuck?

Hell, maybe I did need to talk to her.

To tear into her.

I jab my finger at the screen, snap, “Hello?”

“King?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I mutter. “You called me, remember? Yes, it’s King.”

There’s a long pause. “Is this a bad time?”

“I’ve just seen Stacy again.” A beat. “And Cathy.”

Now the quiet grows.

“Did you know that Stacy is Rory’s stepsister?” I grip the steering wheel, navigate us onto the freeway that’ll lead back to my place. “And that Cathy’s her stepmom?”

Rory inhales sharply, eyes clenching closed.

I reach over, take her hand.

“What did you say?” my mom asks.

I take a breath, struggling for calm because this isn’t her fault. Not really. She’s misguided and pushy but…who the fuck could have predicted the world is this small? “Your friend, Cathy’s daughter, Stacy.” I pause for a second, make sure she’s picked up all of that. “She hasn’t just lost her mind, she’s also a total bitch. She practically assaulted Rory in the middle of Molly’s when she saw the engagement ring.”

“She’s Rory’s stepsister?”

Something about my mom’s tone…well, it has me freezing, my anger and frustration fading away.

Concern rippling up instead.

“What?” I press.

Silence again. Then, “Is Rory there with you?”

A breath from the woman next to me. “Yes, Stella. I’m here.”

Silence. Then a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry that happened, sweetheart,” she says. “Cathy”—a breath—“well, she didn’t have very nice things to say about her stepdaughter and”—regret filling the car—“clearly she’s mistaken because you’re wonderful Rory, and I think…I think it’s likely that Cathy’s not the friend I hoped she was.”

“You think?” I mutter then promptly feel like a dick.

Because my mom sucks in a sharp breath that rattles through the speakers.

Because my mom lost her best friend not long ago and…she hasn’t fully recovered.

Hence, all of us putting up with her matchmaking.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“No, I am,” she says.

“Mom—”

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