Page 93 of Whiskey Throttle
“Save it, Marlowe. I don’t want to hear how my mom needs to be fucked.”
“Language!”
Her sunny disposition slips, an edge to her voice. It’s interesting how the profanity bothers her in some contexts and doesn’t in others. Something else I’ll ponder later.
“Whether you like it or not, she’s allowed to be and feel what you have in me.”
He looks away, out the window, as if the thought is so foreign and distasteful to him that he can’t think any other way.
“Don’t even compare us to him and her.”
His voice is gristly.
Angry at the comparison of them to what he deems a casual fling. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. That’s between Hollister and me to determine if there even is a Hollister and me.
“I’m not, but you need to have an open mind about your mother’s sexuality.”
“Fucking hell, Marlowe.”
I clear my throat.
Uncomfortable with this level of openness.
“Sure, I have the club, a full social calendar, and my lady friends. And you’re probably right in assuming I shouldn’t want more. But when someone showed interest, understood the world we come from, how it is to enter a room full of pitiful looks coming my way, I was relieved.”
“Fuck them. Those high society bitches aren’t half the woman you are.”
That profanity-laced compliment eases the knot in my stomach a fraction.
“I understand the pain I have caused you by being with your friend. Would this be such an issue if it were someone else? Probably not. Did I see it coming? Or plan for this to happen. Not at all, but it did, and I won’t be sorry for that because it’s a betrayal of what we shared and how we?—”
“Spare me the crap, mother. Are you going to continue fucking him or not?”
“Dominic!” The edge she had in her voice turns into a full-on scolding. “It’s not your business what your mom does and who she does it with.”
“Wrong, Marlowe. It matters a hell of a lot. He’s my age. MY AGE.”
“And I’m over ten years older than you.”
“What the fuck does that matter? This isn’t about us, it’s about my mom and my friend. Sneaking around behind my back. Lying to me. If Emilio hadn’t gotten hurt, would I have ever known?” His anger moves from her to me. The full force of his fury is coming my way. “Would you have? Come clean if you weren’t busted?”
Having been patient for longer than I thought. I let my anger rise, ready to unleash a bit on him.
“Like you hanging out with a serial killer? When would you have told me about that? Huh? Why did I have to hear about that last night?”
The room snaps into an oppressive silence. Claudia’s face drains of color, sinking into the couch cushions. Her eyes are wide and unseeing.
Dominic thunders to his feet in a single, fluid motion. The air warps around him. Darkness gathers at his shoulders. His shadow stretches long across the floor. His jaw is set so tight it looks as though his teeth might splinter, and his chest heaves with ragged breaths.
Veins stand out along his neck as his hands ball into fists. Knuckles pale under the strain. Every fiber of his body pulses with raw, unfiltered hatred, turning the room electric with restrained power.
“GET OUT!”
CHAPTER 23
HOLLISTER
It's been two full days of silence from both of them. It's also been three days since I lost them. Every day I've spent with Em. Seeing my buddy livelier and more talkative helps me forget my problems, even if only for a few hours, during the time I get to spend with him before others join in.
