Page 47 of Relentless

“Everything works out how it’s supposed to,” Maeve replied, taking a long sip of her coffee. “Really though, Oakleigh. Be nice to your mom.”

Oakleigh could hardly stand it anymore, flinging up her hand in frustration. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what, now?” Maeve asked distractedly while she went to the stove to top off her mug.

“She’s terrible, Maeve,” Oakeigh said, as though she were informing her of something she hadn’t already known. “Sometimes, I think you enable it.”

Maeve swirled the fresh hot coffee in her cup, considering Oakleigh’s statement. “Did I enable you?”

“I was different,” Oakleigh countered. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’re not telling me.” Maeve had always been noticeably reticent regarding the details of her life before she arrived at Callaway Ranch.

“I’ve told you everything that’s mine to tell,” Maeve stated.

“So, you’re saying thereismore.” Oakleigh leaned her elbow on the marble countertop at the prospect of a juicy story.

“I’m saying,” Maeve interjected. “Sometimes the way people treat you isn’t about you at all — and a little compassion goes a long way.”

Oakleigh’s expression tightened, her past hurts rising to the surface. “I’m sorry if I don’t react well to disrespect,” she said, her voice running cold.

“Most people don’t,” Maeve offered an empathetic smile, entirely unphased by Oakleigh’s outburst. “But I’ve never cared to be likemostpeople.” She took a long drink of her coffee, her expression growing thoughtful. “I’m free to love others despite how they behave.”

Oakleigh wanted to press the issue further but stopped short. She knew Maeve was right, whether or not she felt like admitting it. She breathed a long sigh, resigning herself to the fate of her day. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Maeve raised her mug. “I’ve always found that a good conversation always begins with —”

“A great cup of coffee,” Oakleigh chuckled, unable to stifle her eye roll. “Yes — so I’ve heard.”

Oakleigh balanced two cups of coffee in her hands. Making her way up the stairs, she attempted to avoid sloshing any on the new floors.

“What am I even doing?” Oakleigh muttered to herself.

Maeve’s words from their morning coffee talk were etched in her mind as she went down the hall. Arriving at the guest room, she cradled the mugs carefully before knocking on the solid oak door. A moment went by with no answer.

Oakleigh steadied her nerves and knocked again.

Harper’s groggy voice came muffled through the door. “I’m sleeping,” she huffed.

Adjusting her grip on the mugs, Oakleigh felt sizzling hot coffee splash over the rim and onto her knuckles. “Mom, I have coffee — and it’s burning me,” she exclaimed. “Can you just let me in?”

“Do whatever you want, Oakleigh,” Harper replied, sounding equal parts tired and annoyed. “You always do.”

Taking the snarky comment as an invitation, Oakleigh twisted the knob and cracked open the door. The room was dark, with the window shades pulled tight, blocking the bright morning sunlight. The somber, miserable vibe reminded Oakleigh of her early days at the ranch, yet the mood was weightier than anything she had ever experienced.

“Hey, Mom,” Oakleigh’s tone swung high as though she were speaking to a child. “Here’s your coffee.”

Her mother’s blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was clutching her pillow tightly to her chest. “Leave it on the nightstand,” Harper muttered. “And go feed pigs or whatever you do around here.”

Oakleigh glanced down at her feet, wondering if the right words even existed. “Actually, I’m headed to the shop,” she revealed, attempting to sound cheerful. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Why don’t you ask Maeve to go,” Harper bit back. “That’s her whole thing, right?” She sat up in bed gingerly, propping herself up with her palm. Her injuries were evidently still smarting from the fall on the ice. She grabbed the handle of the coffee mug and took a long drink.

Now that her eyes were adjusting to the darkness of the room, Oakleigh noticed her mother’s broken nails, painfully ripped off to the quick.

“Your nails,” Oakleigh breathed out.

Harper leaned her head back on the headboard. “Don’t ever look at me like that,” she snapped. “Like I’m some pitiful little thing.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Oakleigh said, fumbling for the right words. “It’s just that — it looks painful.”

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