Page 6 of Lucas

I’m grateful for all they’ve done, but I hate that they can’t accept my career choice. I suppose I should be grateful that they care at all. I’ve heard horror stories about friends whose parents worked such long hours that they were never home. I’m hoping that one day they’ll accept my career choice. If not, I take comfort in knowing that they’ll love me no matter what.

4

Lucas

“I’m coming,dammit. Give me a minute!” Holy hell, I don’t know who’s pounding on the door, but whoever it is, they are going to die!

I’m trying to hold up my pants with one hand and unlock the door with the other. Impossible! Since I live in an old loft with a slider. Fuck it! I have to let go of something so it might as well be my pants.

Imagine my surprise when I slide the door open and my mother’s standing there.

My mother!

She’s never been to my apartment. Ever! Fuck, I didn’t think she even knew where I lived. To top it all off, she hasn’t seen me naked since the day I was born. Don’t laugh. I’m serious. Landon and I both had different nannies. Sweet Sara was the name of mine.

“Good god, Lucas, pull up your pants! The door could have waited until you were fully clothed.” She storms past me before I do so.

What the hell’s she doing here?

“Good morning to you, too, Mother. If you had given me a head’s up that you were coming, I’d have showered and dressed first.” She’s standing in the middle of the fucking room, afraid to sit down because the furniture is old and threadbare.

“Being your mother means I don’t need an invitation.” Mind you, the entire time she’s speaking, she’s glancing around. Judging my humble abode. And when her eyes finally stop on my disheveled bed with the restraints in plain sight, she groans, shakes her head, and throws her hands in the air. Hey, it could have been far worse if Angel were still here, but thank fuck she left about an hour ago. Still, if I’m being honest, it smells like a whorehouse in here.

“It’s much too early for one of your speeches, so why don’t you tell me why you came here today.” I quickly reach for a shirt off my messy bed. Normally, I’d smell the damn thing first. Yeah, not doing that with her standing there glaring at me.

“I raised you better than that, Lucas Knight. Apologize this instant.”

Raised me? Ah, no! Sara did that single-handedly, and I think she did an amazing job. My mother, on the other hand, would beg to differ since I’m a musician and Landon is an upscale lawyer. I can’t help rolling my eyes as I tug the shirt over my head. I know she didn’t see a thing since my back is towards her, but when I spin around, I wonder. Nah, there’s no way.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Had you called ahead of time, I would have picked up some of your favorite scones and had a cup of Earl Grey waiting for you.” I bite down hard on my tongue when her nose wrinkles at the thought of drinking and eating in my house. I guess dollar store mugs won’t cut it since she sips her tea out of fine bone china. Oh well. So much for trying to kiss her ass.

After slipping into my shirt, I dust off the only decent chair I own and offer her to sit. It’s a comfy Hyde leather chair that I got for dirt cheap when Trevor’s parents got divorced. It’s the only wonderful piece of furniture I currently own, so I don’t sit in it often. To my surprise, she sits on the very edge of the seat. I sit on the sofa, run my fingers through my unruly hair, and wait for her to begin.

“I wanted to talk to you about how important this party is on Saturday. Landon assured me he already told you to come alone, but it is imperative that you don’t invite your band members. This isn’t free PR for the band, so I wanted to make myself clear. Is that understood?”

Is she fucking serious? When the hell did I ever go to one of her events and sweet talk one of her guests? Never! Believe me, I’d love to rub elbows with the rich and famous so we can catch a break, but we decided a long time ago to make it on our own. Not because we know therightpeople. I can feel my pulse throbbing in my neck as my agitation mounts. Leaning forward, I confront her.

“If you were so worried about me ruining your precious party, then why the invitation?” She can’t meet my gaze after I call her out. Clearing her throat, she stands and walks towards the door.

I’m two strides behind her as she struggles to slide the door open. “Mom, it sticks so let me do it.” It’s not lost on me she hadn’t bothered to answer my question. I open the door but block her exit until she has the decency to answer me. She sighs when she realizes I’m not budging until she does.

“Fine, Lucas. Your father insisted you come, but I couldn't care less whether or not you’re there. Happy now?” She physically pushes me out of the way in order to walk out the door, without even flinching. I’m stunned but not surprised at her outburst. She’s never been nurturing, loving, or caring. So why the hell start now when I’m twenty-three and clearly a disappointment in my family’s eyes?

It occurs to me as I close the door that I lied when I said no woman has ever broken my heart. Apparently my mother was the first, but she will definitely be my last.

I’m standing in the middle of my loft, desperately trying to see it through someone else’s eyes. Someone who isn’t rich or judgmental but can appreciate the openness, or even the potential. The brick walls, high ceilings, and sliding door add a bit of character. But I fell in love with the amazing view of the city from the rooftop. A spiral staircase in the far corner leads me to the outside world where I can play my guitar, write lyrics, or enjoy a little peace and quiet. This was a million-dollar penthouse of sorts many years ago and the only purchase I ever made because of my connections. When I make it big, I’ll have extra money for repairs, new furniture, and a real designer. Until then, I’ll make do with the intricate lights that hang from the wooden beams.

Ah well, enough dreaming for now. It’s time to wash away my sins from last night and exorcise the tension that still lingers from Mom’s visit. I stride into the bathroom, undress, and turn on the scalding water. My hand immediately wraps around my cock, I give it a few solid pumps, and I let the heat and my building orgasm cleanse away my stress.

***

Abby

HaveI told you how much I hate a twelve-hour shift? No? Well, I do. The shop was crazy busy and the last thing I wanted to do was go to my parents’ house. God, I sound like such a bitch, but their idea of catching up means trying to convince me I’m in the wrong profession. The reason I’m so exhausted is that I work really hard. It’s very physical. If I used my degree to my advantage, I’d be mentally working. That’s my mom’s theory anyway, and maybe she’s absolutely right. But how do you tell your parents after all these years you were emotionally abused, and they knew nothing about it? How it stripped me of what little self-esteem I possessed? Yeah, I got fantastic at hiding it. Too good, in fact, since sometimes I thought I was making this shit up in my head. Old habits die hard, and just because I have a degree doesn’t give me the confidence to run a company. Failure was never an option and is the reason I never pursued it.

Apprehension surfaces as I pull into their driveway. They still live in the same house my brother and I grew up in, and that might be why I hate coming here. Remembering all the nights I hid in my room and buried my face into my pillow so I could stifle my screams for the injustice of it all.

I wasn’t ugly!

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