Page 89 of Beautiful Lies
My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts and I checked the screen, expecting it to be Connor. He’d already called me twice, but I’d let it go to voicemail both times. I hadn’t been ready to talk to him. But it was my mom, not Connor. We hadn’t spoken since Thanksgiving and as much as I didn’t want to talk to her, I felt like I should.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Keira who was under the hood of Tate’s Mustang. I wasn’t sure how happy Tate would be about that, but I figured she was capable of dealing with him on her own.
I answered the call as I walked up Richardson Street and stopped in front of an apartment building two doors down from the garage. “Hey Mom,” I said.
“Don’t you ‘hey Mom’ me,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for a call. I deserve an apology.”
Normally, I’d cave and apologize just to keep the peace. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that this time. I was angry with Connor and hurt that he’d kept this from me, but my mother didn’t deserve an apology. “I’m not going to apologize.”
She was silent for a few seconds. “You’re choosingthat boyover your own family?”
“I shouldn’t have to choose.”
“I don’t understand where I went wrong. All your life, I made sacrifices to give you the things I never had. Was I such a horrible mother that you feel the need to punish me for loving you?”
This was what she did. She laid a guilt trip on me. Used her passive-aggressive approach to get me to admit that I’d been wrong. To tell her that she wasn’t a horrible mother.
“You ruined Thanksgiving,” she said. “After I worked so hard to make everything perfect. The least you could have done was be thankful for all the good things in your life. It’s a time to enjoy family, not to argue and stress out your poor father. He almost died. Did you think about that? No, you didn’t. You were being selfish, thinking only of yourself.”
I took deep breaths of cold air, biting back all the bitter words that threatened to break loose.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I have nothing to say for myself.”
She sniffed. “I’m disappointed in you, Ava.”
And I’m disappointed in you. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me. Goodbye, Mom.” I cut the call, took a shaky breath and played back the voicemails Connor had left, his raspy, sexy voice filling my ear.
“Hey, babe. I fucked up. By now, you should be used to it. I was trying to outrun my past. But it always has a way of catching up. I had my reasons for not telling the truth. If you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything. It’s not a pretty story, but my stories never are.”
I listened to the next one.
“I just listened to ‘Rocket Man.’ I get why it makes you feel sad.” I heard him take a drag on a cigarette and pictured him standing behind the shop, blowing smoke into the air. “Yeah, I’m smoking. Sorry about that. I’m an addict, babe. No matter how long I go without touching drugs, I’ll always be an addict. And I’ve done so many things in my life that I regret. So many fucked-up things. I’d give anything to rewind time and undo them. But I can’t. I just need to find a way to live with my mistakes. I never wanted to drag you into this mess. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
I pocketed my phone, wondering what kind of mess he was talking about.
26
Ava
Connor pulled into the lot in front of Atlas Motors and cut the engine. Removing his helmet, he climbed off the bike and entered the garage. I stayed where I was, waiting for him to come to me which I knew he would. Even though he hadn’t glanced my way, he had seen me. Minutes later, he walked out of the garage without his helmet and headed my way. He stopped in front of me, his eyes flitting over my face, trying to gauge my mood. Good luck with that. I had no idea how I was feeling. Confused. Hurt. Sad. Angry. My moods had run the gamut today. He was chewing his gum like his life depended on it, the scent of cigarettes mingling with leather and soap and cinnamon. For a few seconds, we just stood there looking at each other, a police siren cutting through our silence.
He looked over my shoulder, his eyes squinted, his upper lip gripped between his teeth. “I’ll walk you home.”
“What about Keira?” I asked, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my down jacket.
“She’s talking cars with Tate. I’ll come back and get her.”
I didn’t question why we were walking instead of riding on his Harley. Connor was better at talking about important things when he was on the move. Always running. We crossed under the BQE, the cars trundling over our heads, the air scented with motor oil and exhaust fumes, my mind racing with so many questions I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“You went to Miami to find your mother.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would you keep that to yourself?”
“It sounds stupid now, but I wanted to do something good for Killian. Didn’t go to plan.”
