Page 9 of Worth the Vow

Mom wanted to be cremated and scattered throughout the Rocky Mountains. I barely had enough money to pay for the cremation, and only enough for two months’ rent before I’d be homeless. I’d only managed to take a handful of classes at the community college near our apartment since graduating high school, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. My only options for jobs would be entry-level positions, or places I could quickly learn on the job. When I found a restaurant that would pay for me to attend a bartending school, I leapt at the chance.

A few months after her passing, I began to go through her things to see what could be donated. My mom was passionate about giving to non-profit organizations that helped women, and I knew she’d want her clothes to go to the local service that helped women and children who had left abusive situations. I was surprised to find an envelope in the back of our shared closet containing important papers, including my birth certificate, which had my father’s name on it.

Once I’d tracked him down, I asked him to take a DNA test to confirm our relationship, and he’d agreed. After it was confirmed, he encouraged me to move to Colorado Springs, and he’d employ me at one of his bars. When he hit a financial bump in the road, I was all too willing to have him stay at my new apartment, conveniently one I rented from him. Clearly I was desperate to cultivate a relationship with anyone.

If it hadn’t been for Matt, his brother Zane, and their mom Angie, I don’t think I could have gotten through the time when we all found out the devious nature of our father, Christopher Turner’s, life. Every now and again, he attempts to reach out from prison, but I try to ignore his calls. I’m an empathetic person by nature, and Matt tells me I’m too kind to people that walk all over me. But it’s my dad. It’s hard for me to cut ties with him when he’s the only parent I have left.

“Mom, what am I supposed to do?” I whimper, holding the heating pad to my stomach in hopes that it lessens the pain just slightly. I don’t know how I’m supposed to find another place to live on such short notice when I’m in this much pain, and I certainly don’t think I can physically pack my things. When my mom passed and I lost the healthcare we both used, I lost access to my birth control pills that had helped to alleviate some of the pain I experienced each month. I could probably go to Planned Parenthood and see if they have free, or cheap, options, but I barely have time to make it to the grocery store, let alone a free clinic.

When my phone rings next to my head, I wince when I see it’s Dominic calling. He never texts, always calls. I would rather carry on a twelve-hour conversation via text than answer a phone call. But I know if I don’t answer, he’ll just keep calling.

“Yes?” I answer, hoping he can’t hear my cries of pain.

“Katharine,” his deep voice answers. Never Kate. Always Katharine. I don’t know why he’s decided he’ll call me that. It grates on my nerves, which is probably why he continues.

“What?” I snap.

Silence.

“Dominic. What?”

“You’re crying.”

God dammit. “No, I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can hear it in your voice. What happened?”

I fucking hate how he calls me out on everything. How for some reason, he sees my soul better than anyone else. Almost better than my mom did.

“Katharine, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what the problem is.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“But you clearly need it.”

“I don’t need your help, per se.” I cringe as I imagine him smirking in victory as he assumes he’ll save the day. I can almost see him in his home office, relaxed in his high-back leather chair, probably still wearing the suit he went to work in today. His dark brown hair perfectly tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through it all day due to one thing or another. Eyes so dark they’re almost black, and when he sets his laser-focused gaze on me, I feel like he can see into my soul.

“Alright. What could someone help you with?” he asks.

I sigh. No sense in ignoring his question, or hanging up. Dominic Santo is like a dog with a bone when he wants an answer to something. He’ll undoubtedly activate some Santo phone chain and half the city will be involved within the hour.

“You know how I rent a room in town?”

“Yes.”

“Well, their son is coming home from college, so they told me I have to move out.”

“Did you have a lease? They can’t kick you out if you signed a lease for a specific amount of time, unless they wanted to pay to cover your expenses and whatnot.”

God. He’s never going to let me live this down. “Uh, it was more of a verbal lease?”

“Jesus Christ, Katharine. Do you have until the end of the month?”

“No, they want me out this weekend.”

“I’m assuming you haven’t looked at any other places yet. I’m sure my mom would go with you to look at apartments.”

She totally would, but it’s beside the point. I can’t afford anything in town. “I know she would, Dominic, but I can’t afford things here. My jobs barely cover this room, and they gave me a hell of a deal.”

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