Page 10 of Light It Up Red
“Ah…” I open my mouth but I have no idea what to say. I don’t know who this person is.
“I’m Frances, Travis’s mother. I didn’t wake you, did I? He didn’t mention anyone was here,” she says, already walking around the counter and heading in my direction.
“Ah, I’m Liliana. And I was just leaving. I’m sorry.” I also have no idea what I’m apologizing for.
Maybe for screwing her son’s brains out and having her find me looking like a tramp about to make the walk of shame out of his apartment?
“Liliana, such a beautiful name,” she hums. “Come sit down. I was just about to make tea. You want one? Or how about some coffee?” She waves to the counter. “I drop off groceries for Travis. Because, well, I’m afraid if I don’t, he’ll just eat crap.” She shrugs. “You are insanely beautiful. But you already know that. How do you take your tea?” The woman hasn’t stopped talking or moving about the kitchen.
“I really do need to go. I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Neil,” I repeat.
“It’s just Frances, darling. And no need to apologize. I’m sure this is not how anyone expects to meet their boyfriend’s mother,” she says.
“Oh, Travis and I … we aren’t.” I shake my head. How do I explain I just fucked her son and have no intentions of seeing him again?
“I’m not that old, darling. I know how you kids work these days. No labels and all that nonsense. But trust me… if my son left you asleep in his bed, in his apartment, then he likes you a whole lot. Which means this little meeting between us would have happened eventually.”
I still don’t know what to do here. What to say. I don’t want to be rude, but I really do need to go home. “I’m sure it would have.” I smile at her. Travis’s mom seems nice. A lot nicer than what my father would be to her son if the roles were reversed.
My own mother is a total sweetheart. She’d be all over Travis, trying to make sure he’s comfortable and is properly fed. My father? Not so much. He’d likely call my uncles over to help him string the poor guy up by his ankles in the basement.
“Well, now that we’ve met, let’s not be strangers,” Frances says. “I’m sorry if I woke you, darling.”
“You didn’t. It was really great meeting you. But I have to dash out,” I tell her.
“Oh, that’s quite all right. Have a great day, Liliana.” Frances smiles at me, and I wave awkwardly at her as I walk to the door.
I don’t release the breath I was holding until I’m in the elevator descending to the garage, deciding it’s probably best to just get out of this building before I run into any more of Travis’s family. Or worse yet, the man himself.
I find one of my dad’s cars and jump in. The keys are always inside. No one is stupid enough to steal a car with one of our Valentino plates.
I get the side-eye from two soldiers as I sneak into the house. I’m not stupid. I know there’s no real sneaking involved. Within minutes, my father will know I’m only just getting home. But if I can manage to make it to my room without him seeing me, I know I’ll have at least a few hours of peace before he comes knocking at my door. More than likely after my mother has calmed him down a bit.
“Stop right there! Where the fuck are you crawling in from?” The voice, although rough and deep, doesn’t belong to my father. I glance over one shoulder and my glare lands on my brother. My little brother, mind you, who has taken on the role of the older sibling for some unknown reason.
“I was out,” I tell him and roll my eyes.
“Obviously,” Alessandro says. “Where were you?”
“Nowhere you need to know about.” I smirk at him.
“Wait… What the hell are you wearing?” He’s staring at me with wide eyes. “Is that…? Holy shit, that’s an O’Neil jersey,” he gasps, and I watch my brother’s jaw drop.
Alessandro is a major hockey fan. Most of my family is, while I’ve never seen the appeal. Until now. “Huh, what do you know? It is.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“I went to the game with Harper last night.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“You didn’t get that jersey from no pro shop, Lil. Who gave it to you?” Alessandro steps closer. His hand reaches out and he spins me around. “Holy fucking shit,” he hisses as soon as his gaze lands on my back.
“What?” I peek over one shoulder, trying to see what he sees.
“It’s signed. Travis fucking O’Neil signed this jersey.”
“Okay…” I draw out as I step aside and spin around. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’re wearing a signed O’Neil jersey, Lil. Do you have any idea how rare that is? I’ll give you a hundred cold for it.” Alessandro nods, already reaching for his phone and pulling up his banking app.
