Page 45 of The Catalyst

“Honey, Bethany, I don’t want to lose you.” Her eyes fill with unshed tears.

“You know where I stand. I’m not dealing with this anymore, Mom. Either be my mother or be a stranger. No more trying to set me up. No more hitting me. No more asking me to conform to fit your system of beliefs. I’m my own person.”

She stands there silently as her eyebrows lower sheepishly.

“And you need to get some serious help with your drinking. Get into rehab and kick it.”

I’ve dealt with this crap for two years, and I’m done being the person that has to deal with her self-destruction. If she needs a shoulder to cry on, I’ll be there, but I won’t sacrifice my mental health so she can be a shell of the woman she once was.

“Okay,” she mumbles meekly and looks up at me through her lashes.

If someone were watching this unfold, they’d think I was the mother in this situation, scolding her child. And I’ve never felt like I had to baby her as much as I do right now.

“Okay?” I’m stunned by how easily she agrees to my demands.

“You’re right…about everything. Your father may be gone, but I’m still here, and so are you. I may not understand it, but…I can respect that you care about this boy and need to navigate this part of your life on your own. If you trust him, he must’ve worked to earn that trust. You've never been someone to hand that over easily. I never should’ve laid my hands on you or tried to push you into something you didn’t want. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that, but I hope you will. I do need help. I’ll call our health insurance company about my rehabilitation options. I’ll put in the work, Bethany. I don’t expect you to trust me, but maybe you’ll have a little hope for the future.”

I study her face closely. My mother is one of the most stubborn people I know, outside of Nigel. I’d be an idiot just to blindly believe she would change her tone. She’s been highly against anything that wasn’t her idea.

Her expression doesn’t change. Maybe she is ready to get better and accept the changes that have to come.

“We’ll see,” I say as I dart down the hall with my duffle bag thrown over my shoulder, heading straight for my bedroom. The door may be broken, but at least I don’t feel like I need to have it closed. We’re making progress, and that’s something.

CHAPTER 22

BETH

My mother has been busy getting packed for rehab. Our health insurance is excellent and they are paying for residential treatment at a long-term facility in Houston. Luckily, it won’t be too far and it’s only a ninety-day program.

She hasn’t tried to tell me what I can or can’t do, which has been a blessing. I’ve been so stifled in the past two years. I need to spread my wings. It’s hard enough to convince Nigel that I need to go home every night. It would be even worse if my mom tried to stop me from being around him. Heck, sometimes he doesn’t even want me to go to school. He likes hogging my attention a little too much.

Tonight, he doesn’t mind so much. He likes showing off that I’m his property.

Yeah, the man is a walking oxymoron.

Nigel pulls me into a kiss as soon as we are out of his truck, his fingers digging through my hair, dragging me against him.

“Tonight,” he rasps, “you’re all mine.”

“I thought I was already yours, O’Reilly,” I tease him.

“Day and night for the rest of your fucking life.” His hand comes down hard on my ass.

“Then, what makes right now any different? I’m still yours.”

“Yes, you’re still mine. Right now, I need you to be my good girl, and when we leave, you can be my dirty little slut all you want.”

Nigel specifically dressed tonight to avoid an incident like his last fight, where Martin Gray put his hands on me. He’s already dressed for the ring, except for the hoodie covering his chest.

Not only is Nigel not leaving my side until the fight starts, but he also gave me a little gift to keep in my pocket– a pair of brass knuckles. I may not have as much strength as Nigel, but even my minimal strength, mixed with the knuckles, will cause some damage.

“Let’s go,” he mutters as he places one arm around my waist, and I release his neck, letting him guide me through the front door of the abandoned warehouse that hosts the fights.

I scan the area immediately, looking for a sign of the threat–the same threat I was unaware of that night. I’m not an idiot. Martin Gray is smart, but I’m mean.

“Nigel!” My gaze snaps around as a blonde man with dark blue eyes and pale skin dusted with freckles jogs over to us. “Good to see you’re on time, unlike your previous fight,” he jokes, and unlike when anyone else messes with him, Nigel cracks a big smile, laughing.

“Come on. Get off my ass, Michael.”

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