Page 172 of Rush of Jealousy

They live less than half an hour away and yet Donna acts like she rarely sees her kids. That has to change. Do they not realize that tomorrow is not a promise?

“Did you drive yourself?” she continues.

“Collins brought us.”

“Where is he? Tell him to come in and eat. I always make extra. Tell him he can have the guest room. Where are the manners I have instilled in you, Graham Xavier Hoffman?”

Xavier. Interesting. He and Nic both share the same middle name. “Mom,” Graham sighs, “Collins is working right now. After his shift is over, he’ll switch with my other man.”

Donna is one of those moms who doesn’t seem to put up with any fuss—especially from her son. “Well, can you at least bring him a container of food? I realize that you live by a different set of rules—or at least think you do—but when you’re in my house, you take care of those who take care of you. Respect, Graham. Keep it mutual.”

“Okay,” he says, shaking his head for added emphasis, “I’ll pack him up some pot pie. I’m sure he’ll love something homemade.”

Her smile goes back to being sweet again. She may be calm, but her flame is mighty. I instantly feel connected to her. And that alone helps lessen the anger I feel toward Graham. If someone as amazing as she seems raised him, then he can’t be all that bad.

“Nic,” Germain says quietly, “are you able to have this week off work?”

“Dad,” he sighs, “I’m never really off.” His passiveness makes me turn to look at him. “Basically just living my life as if I’m always on call or always working. Can never shut off my brain.”

“This lifestyle is going to catch up with you, son. You may need to start saying no.”

“I'm in too deep right now, Dad. There’s no turning back,” Nic explains.

“We always have free will. If you need help with anything, please let us know and we can try to support you.”

He nods and coughs into his cloth napkin. He glances at Graham, and a sympathetic look passes between them. Nic plays with the ring on his finger and lifts his head with a half smile. “Thank you, Dad. I just need to finish this one out. And who knows, maybe the whole project will open up doors to something a bit more exciting?”

I watch the interchange between the men at the table and try to pick up all the clues being dropped. It’s like they are speaking in code and talking around a secret subject.

After dinner, Graham walks out a container of food to Collins and then helps his mom clear the table with me. Donna shoos the guys away as she cleans and resets the table back to a lovely display for Thanksgiving, all while talking nonchalantly with me. I try to assist where I can, but let her flitter through her dining room as if on autopilot—placing all the decor back to its exact location. She mimics an artist, more than an interior designer. Her eye is for pretty things, and she nails it with such understated beauty in her choices. But I know she is shopping at the boutiques and not the Home Decor Warehouse that would meet my type of budget.

“So, that boy of mine…is he as demanding in his personal life as he is in his professional life?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty much,” I laugh. “And intense.” Apparently both boys of hers are.

“Always has been, my dear. Did you know that when I carried him, he would get his foot stuck in my ribcage almost daily? And he was a month early but still over nine pounds. That is Graham. Always doing things his way—on his own timeline.”

I laugh over this information. It really humanizes him and makes him more than just a control freak. The more his mom talks about him, the more layers get added to him. And I have already peeled back so many.

“But what makes him who he is at the core?” I ask, knowing that honesty is what I have been yearning for all along. Something real. Not some fabricated half-truth.

Donna stops washing pot pie ramekins, dries her hands on the towel hanging from the oven door handle, and leans her back against the island.

She frowns and then looks up into my eyes. “Graham is not perfect. He may give the illusion that he is—but it’s all a facade. Deep down, that boy of mine is just looking for someone to accept him and his lifestyle. He’s fiercely protective of those he loves. That is probably why he keeps Germain and me hidden from a lot of his life.”

My brow furrows over her words. He will lose me if he cannot come clean on all of his agendas. I am tired of the secrets. I am tired of always wondering when the next shoe will drop on our life we are trying to create together. And then asking myself, is it worth it? Is it worth risking my heart at a chance to get to know someone who may never let me inside enough to see the real him? The answer is not easy. Especially when I am a hypocrite who wants to keep my own cards close to my chest.

I cannot accept any more lies. And I am equally tired of trying to preserve the level of secrecy needed to further my own agenda.

Being lonely, and broken, and an empty shell is comforting, but only because there are no expectations. There is nothing to dream for and then have it slip away.

That was how I used to live my life. That is my past. Everything changed with Graham. It’s like he put a magnifying glass up to my heart to show it what it can feel like—if I can just let go and take that chance.

“I don’t want to lose him,” I whisper to Donna. “But relationships can’t be built on dishonesty.”

“Oh dear,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.

Dampness hits my cheeks before I can register the source. I wipe it away with my shirt sleeve.

---