Page 211 of Vegas Heat

He grins as I get out of the car, and I head inside.

“I knew it!” my mom exclaims without preamble the second I walk in the door. She flashes her phone screen at me. “And the evidence.”

I stare at the photo on her phone. It’s a little grainy and hard to see since it’s a picture taken from a window and through a windshield, but I see the back of my head as I lean toward Cooper in his front seat. I know what I’m looking at since it just happened, but if I didn’t know, it would probably take me some time to piece together what it was.

“Good morning to you, too,” I say with fake brightness. “Why, exactly, are you looking for evidence on your daughter?”

“Because I knew I wasn’t crazy!” She waves her phone around in the air. “You’ve been lying this entire time and I just watched while you smooched your boyfriend in your father’s driveway with him none the wiser while he recovers from open heart surgery miles away in the hospital.”

“Way to lay it on thick,” I mutter dryly, and then since I’m not really sure how to handle it, I divert the subject completely. “I need you to go back home to Colorado.”

Her jaw drops open. “What?”

“You need to go home,” I repeat, enunciating my words as clearly as possible this time around.

“What are you talking about? You need me here now more than ever!”

My brows knit together. I know who I’m talking to here, and I know I need to be careful, but I can’t help the words as they come tumbling out of my mouth. “In what sort of delusional universe might that be true?”

She looks supremely offended by my words.

“I know you’re trying to help,” I say, going for a different tact, “but the doctor said we need to do everything we can to reduce Dad’s stress at home. And I’m sorry, Mom, but I don’t think having you here is conducive to a relaxing environment for him.”Or for me.

She presses her lips together as she swipes away a tear, and the act is frankly getting a little tiresome. “Fine. You don’t want me here? I’m some nuisance that triggers stress? Right. I’ll just go then.”

I blow out a breath, and I’m about to say something along the lines ofthis isn’t about you, Mother, when I remember who I’m dealing with.

She’s the narcissist to end all narcissists, and telling someone as self-centered as her that any given situation isn’t actually about her isn’t the way to diffuse the situation nor is it the way todraw the line in the sand to tell her what’s okay and not okay to put on me. It’s time for me to set those boundaries.

To that end, I say, “I’m so sorry you feel that way. I apologize for making you feel sad, but your anger and your sadness are not my responsibility.”

She huffs out a breath before she spins on her heel and stomps up the stairs like a pouty teenager, and while I don’t want my mom to be mad at me, I’m at a point in my life where I can decide what’s best for me…and she isn’t it.

I’ve done my service. I was a good and respectful daughter to her my entire life, often giving up things I wanted in order to accommodate her. But when I learned who my dad was and found out about her lies—both aboutwhohe is and the fact that she told me he never wanted me—she gave up the right to my respect. And in the three years that have passed, she’s done literally nothing to try to earn it back.

And so, like I just told her, I can no longer take on her emotions as my responsibility. Maybe it’s all part of growing up—of becoming an adult and realizing that your parents are people, too, and that you have choices on the table you never really considered before.

I stay out of her way while she packs up. It’s an eleven-hour drive back to Colorado, so she can be back home as early as late tonight.

She comes down the stairs a full hour later, and I’m positive she was taking her time to see if I’d come up and apologize. But I won’t. I’m not going to back down on this one. It’s time I stand up for myself when it comes to her.

“I guess I’ll be leaving, then,” she says.

I nod, and I walk over to give her a hug that isn’t returned. “Have a safe trip back.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Let’s not forget I have some evidence on you, young lady.” She holds up her phone, and I really thought maybe we could do this civilly. Clearly not.

“Seriously, Mother?” I roll my eyes. “I’m your daughter. It would be great if you could, you know, just hope for the best for me instead of always trying to prove you have the upper hand.”

“Or you could just admit what I’ve suspected all along rather than lying about it,” she says.

Oh, right—I forgot. She’salwaysright and will doanythingto prove it.

“Fine. Yes. I’m in love with Cooper Noah, okay? I love my father’s best friend with my entire heart and soul, and no, Dad has no idea, and yes, we’re doing this in total secret because every time we try to tell him, something comes up. Are you happy now?”

She purses her lips, clearlynothappy despite being proven correct. “You could’ve just told me from the beginning.”

Oh my God. Nothing isevergood enough for her.

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