Page 96 of Sinful
"Let me finish." Her eyes are wet. "But I understand now. You were trying to protect us. Trying to deal with your pain alone because you thought you deserved it."
"I did deserve it."
"No. You deserved compassion. Understanding. Family." She takes a shaky breath. "And I'm sorry I couldn't give you that before. That your father and I were so consumed with the club, with survival, that we didn't see you drowning."
Tears are streaming down my face now.
Mom reaches up, wipes them away gently. "Tell me about Texas. Really tell me. Not the version you fed us over the phone."
My stomach clenches. "What do you mean?"
"Helle. I'm your mother. I know when you're lying." Her voice is gentle but firm. "College, studying, the normal life you said you were building—none of that was true, was it?"
The words stick in my throat.
"No," I whisper finally. "It wasn't."
"Tell me the truth. Please. I can't help you if I don't know what you've really been through."
So I do.
All of it.
"I dropped out before I even went to Texas. Couldn't focus, couldn't—I was drowning in guilt and I just stopped going."
Mom listens without interrupting.
"I work at a dive bar called Cactus Jack's. Shitty place, drunk customers, barely made rent most months." The confession pours out of me. "And I raced. Illegally. Underground circuits, street racing. Made money when I won, which was most of the time."
"And the racing?" Mom asks quietly.
I look up sharply. "How did you?—"
"That man at the bar. The first night you came home. He recognized you. Called you 'Hell.'" She's not angry, just sad. "I put it together."
"I'm sorry," I sob. "I'm so sorry for lying. For everything."
Mom pulls me into her arms, holds me while I break apart.
"Shh. I'm not angry. I'm just—I wish you'd told me sooner. I wish you hadn't felt like you had to carry all of this alone."
"I was ashamed. Thought you'd be disappointed."
"Disappointed?" She pulls back, holds my face in her hands. "Helle, you survived. That's what matters. You found a way to survive when everything fell apart."
"I lied to you for three years."
"Because you were scared. Because you thought we'd judge you." She wipes my tears with her thumbs. "But I'm not disappointed. I'm proud. You didn't have our support, our money, our help—and you still made it. Still found a way to keep going."
"I worked in a bar and raced bikes illegally."
"You were resourceful. You were a survivor." Momsmiles through her own tears. "And you're one hell of a rider if you were winning most of the time."
I laugh, hard.
"So you're not mad?"
"I'm not mad. I'm just glad you're here. Glad you're alive. Glad you came home." She hugs me again, tighter this time. "And whatever you decide to do—stay in Florida, go back to Texas, run off with that handsome Nomad who can't stop looking at you—I support you."
