Page 75 of Give Me Love

“My vibrator,” she says with a smile.

I laugh as I take a sip of my wine, almost choking. “You named your vibrator Mr. Pinky?” I say, wiping my mouth.

“Oh, baby. He deserves his own name.”

“Good God, woman. Get out of here.” I slap her on the ass, and she yelps as she laughs.

“I’ll be gone a while. You’ve gotta fend for yourself with supper.”

I throw my head back and cover my eyes with my forearm. “Oh, what will I do?”

A pillow from our chair whips past me before she disappears. I laugh and look down at my neglected toenails. “Guess I could spend the evening with Mr. Nail Polish.”

ChapterThirteen

Bryce

I undo my tie and take a seat at the kitchen table. Tipping my glass of bourbon back, I kick the chair out in front of me and prop my feet up. I had a party with some of Pop’s colleagues. Bunch of money with cigars and whiskey. It’s tiring putting on a front.

I’m Lee Grant’s boy––businessman, club owner, and a seat at the table of his horse business. But really, I’m a man who came from shit. It’s funny how our past defines so much of who we are. Even if years later, we seem so different.

That’s the one thing you can’t escape ––your past. It follows right along, like an unwanted shadow, reminding you constantly that this life you’ve built would have never happened if your mother wasn’t a drug addict, your father wasn’t a lovesick puppy, and cars never crashed.

I suck my teeth after I take another sip of my drink, and my phone lights up from the table. I debate even looking at it but think maybe it’s Kathrine. My eyes go to the screen and I sit up, placing my glass on the table.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Bryce?” Her voice sends chills down my spine because she never calls.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Son, I need…”

“Where are you?” My chair falls back when I stand, and without thought I walk to my keys.

“I’m at the motel,” she groans, and panic rushes through me.

“Stay there. Don’t move. I’m coming.”

It takes me thirty minutes to get to the motel she sells her body out of. The night is dark, and the moon hides behind the clouds. I reach over into the glove compartment and grab my gun, quickly jumping out of the car and placing the gun into the back of my slacks, looking around guardedly as I do.

This isthebad part of town, drug dealers, bums with nothing to lose, and whores with only their bodies to sell.

I run to her room, seeing the door is not all the way closed. I place my hand on my gun as I push the door open.

“Mom,” I say. She doesn’t answer, and I take a few steps in, cautiously looking behind the door and around the room. The creak of the door sounds behind me, and I lock it so no one can come in unexpectedly. The carpet’s stained, and the walls are yellow from nicotine.

“Fuck.”

I spot her between the bed and the wall. Her face is beaten, and she has no clothes on. She holds the phone in her hand, and I hang it up to stop the annoying beeping sound. With shaky hands, I grab the balled-up comforter and put it around her.

“Wake up, Mom.”

She moans, but her eyes don’t open. Mine roam and my head spins. A single lamp casts a spotlight on a needle, spoon, white baggie, and a lighter.

Exhaling, I move her so she’s sitting up against the wall. Her lip is busted, and her eye is swelling as fingertip bruises already appear on her neck.

Anger simmers and boils inside my chest, vibrating my ribcage and making my heart beat uncontrollably. I stand and walk over to the dresser, grabbing the little bag. My eyes look down at her as I walk past and open it.

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