Page 78 of Hat Trick

I don’t think I’m worthy of your love or yourtrust.

Like mother, likedaughter.

I brush past him, head down because I don’t think I can bring myself to make eyecontact.

His footsteps echo on the stone floor behind me. “Gwen—”

I don’t turn around at the risk of crumpling in aheap.

“Love is fucking messy, Gwen,” Marshall calls out to me as I step onto his front stoop. “It’s messy and it’s hard and there is no one else in this world that I would rather be in that mess with thanyou.”

My chest heaves with a silent cry and I cup my hand over my mouth to reel it in and keep it on lockdown. I fumble for my key fob in my purse, yanking it out and blindly unlocking mycar.

Marshall standing tall and proud in his driveway is the last thing I see before I peel away. I drive until I hit the nearest convenience store, and then I’m in the parking lot. My hands on the steering wheel, my heart warring with myhead.

I’ve done this to myself, and there is no one else I can blame for my heartbreak butme.

For my entire life, I have done everything in my power to be the opposite ofAdaline.

But blond hair or red, divorced or never-been-wed, I am my mother’s daughter. The mistrust she instilled in me from birth can’t be beaten into submission—and I’ve lost the only man I’ve ever loved because ofit.

I’ve never hated myselfmore.

32

Gwen

Idon’t knowwhat I expect when I go to my mother’s house on Christmasnight.

An elf running around the mansion, atleast.

A hug, atmost.

What I get is an empty house and a note on the front door that reads:Have gone out with Steven. Help yourself toleftovers.

No signature, no flourish or a heart or even a smileyface.

“Why are you even surprised?” I mutter to myself as I stare at the note. The longer I stand there, the angrier I become. Ripping the damn thing off the door, I crumple the pink Post-It note into a ball and hurl it into my mother’s dead Chrysanthemumbushes.

All around me, the houses along my mother’s street are lit with Christmas lights and blow-up lawn decorations and so much holiday cheer that I feel like the Grinch in a pair of knee-highboots.

You missMarshall.

I push away the thought, the self-pity and, more importantly, the self-disgust. With quick steps back to my car, I slide into the driver’s seat and bring up my contact list on my phone. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is a bad idea, but I do itanyway.

Clearly, I’m on a roll with bad decisions lately so I might as well keep themgoing.

Pressing CALL, I lean back and stare at my childhood home. And then I wait and I wait andI—

“I’m with my friends, Gwen,” my mother says in greeting. “Did you needsomething?”

NoMerry Christmasfrom Adaline, of course. NoI’m sorry I ditched you for dinnerorOops, I’m so sorry I fucked up your head so you can’t even function like a normal adult inlove.

When my silence stretches too long, Adaline presses, “Gwen, I don’t have all day. What do youneed?”

“Amother.”

I can almost picture her gripping the pearls around her neck. “Excuseme?”

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