Page 93 of Just One Moment

“Threwa couple of bricks through the window.”

“Fuck.”Iwince.

Ican’t look atQuinn.Can’tbear to see her face whenItell her what’s happened.Todaywas supposed to be different.Adistraction, like the one she gave me when my mom was in the hospital.Shegot away from the hatred, poison, and heartbreak.Builther life from the ground up.Shedoesn’t deserve this.

“Doyou know who she is?” he asks.

“Yeah.IthinkIdo.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

quinn

Tarnished.

Theuniverse never lets me have anything nice.

Aday filled with so much happiness, laughter, and joy is now spoiled.It’sironic that the dayIwas born—despite telling me my whole life that it was the worst day of hers—is the day she can’t seem to leave me alone.She’ssadistic.Alwayswanting to be reminded of what causes her such hatred.

Myfeelings toward my mother varied throughout my life.Inthe beginning,Icraved her affection.Onetime she gave me some of her half-eaten burger from the local diner andIremember thinking that’s what maternal love was.AsIgrew older and saw other moms interact with their daughters,Ifelt envy and rage.Whycouldn’tIhave a mother who took me to the mall or braided my hair?Whyhave me ifIwas such a burden?

Thelast couple of years under her roof,Ipitied her.Shedidn’t hold back in telling me her own upbringing was awful, so it only seemed fairIreceived the same treatment.Alcoholfueled her bitterness.Randomdrug use made her lazy.

Mostof our lives, it was just the two of us.Onoccasion,she’d bring some lowlife home or let her drug dealer sleep on the sofaIcalled a bed, forcing me to sleep on the floor or on some occasions, the porch.

Isuspect she found the address of the bakery online or through my socials, consideringInever changed my name whenIleftCalifornia.Howshe ended up inMaineis beyond me.Webarely had enough money to keep the electricity on, let alone a cross-country ticket.FromwhatGrahamhas told me, she was screaming onRobinRoad, presumingIlived above the bakery.Mybirthday gift from her was a couple of bricks through the window, damaging several tables and the display fridge.

WhileIunderstand everythingMr.Willis,Graham, and the sheriff are telling me right now,I’mnumb.

Whycan’t she just leave me alone?Igave her what she wanted.Distance.Megone.

Whenasked ifIwant to press charges,Ilook atGraham, hoping he has the answer.

“There’sno rush.Sleepon it.Iwant to get you home.MartinandDexwill get this sorted.”Heguides me away from my damaged bakery.Glassand carnage taint the sacred spaceIcall my own.Theinsurance should cover the repairs, but it could take months to handle.TimeIcan’t afford to not have a working fridge and boarded up windows.

Hepractically carries me to theJeep, swaddled in his coat, and gets us back to the apartment in record time.

Hiswords play on repeat in my head the entire journey.Iwant to get you home.

Home.Whereis home?I’dtried so many times to make a place my home, andIthoughtI’dfound it inSuttonBay, but she’s left her mark here too.

Whenwe step into the apartment,Grahamgoes into full caretaker mode.Bubblebath.Warmtea.Freshbedding.

Now, with his hand on my lower back, he guides me into my room.Beforehe can step away,Itug on his wrist.

“Staywith me.”Mylip quivers uncontrollably and my heart clenches in fear that he’ll refuse me.

“Always.”Hisinstant response is said with such surety and is a tiny drop of relief in the ocean of emotions.

Wesettle on the mattress, and he pulls the comforter up and over our heads, burying us away from the rest of the world.Fingerscaress along my cheeks, nose, and lips in soothing motions.Ibathe myself in his strong, quiet aura.

I’mgrateful when sleep finds me, andIdream of how the day should have ended.

Inthe nineyears sinceIlast saw my mother, she’s aged well beyond her years.Shewas eighteen when she fell pregnant, and like me, she never got to finish high school.Herskin is now sallow from the alcohol, and her cheeks hollow from the drugs.Whenshe looks around the near-empty parking lot, her eyes are vacant and glassy, butIknow she’s looking for me.

Theafternoon sun glares against the windshield ofGraham’scar, sheltering us.

Froma distance, we watch as the deputy drops his hand to the top of my mother’s head before she ducks into the patrol car.Thelast glimpse of herIsee is the hair color we share.

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