Page 66 of Ripped

“Do we have to talk about it?” I know I sound like a petulant child. I feel like a petulant child.

Mom drops her gaze to her mug and she seems to deflate a little. “You know, there was a time when we talked about everything.”

The words hit me deep in my gut. She’s right. It was ages ago, when I was still a kid. I don’t remember when that changed. Or how.

She lifts her gaze to me and I feel like I’m being assessed somehow, appraised to see if I measure up. Her lips twitch into something I think is supposed to be a smile.

“No, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She stands and drifts to the sink.

This is not how I imagined this conversation would go. Where are the snarky comments and not-so-subtle jabs? Where are the disappointed looks and exaggerated eye rolls? It’s like she’s giving up and… no, that’s not how this is supposed to work.

“He cheated on me,” I blurt out. Oh, god. Why did I say that? I was this close to getting out of this thing Scott-free.

Mom frowns at me. “Miles did?”

“Yeah, with Wyatt.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe because they’re assholes.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “There’s no need to be calling names, Connor.”

“If there’s ever a time to be calling names, don’t you think this is one of them?”

I can see the vein in her temple ticking and it drives away that slimy dismissive feeling I had. This is more like it. This is what we do. It twists my stomach into knots, but it’s better than Mom turning her back on me.

“So out of the blue, Miles and Wyatt just start cheating on you.” Her arms are crossed and she’s leaning against the counter. She looks like she doesn’t believe me.

“Yeah, Mom. I walked in on them.”

“You walked in on them?” Her eyebrows are in her hairline now.

“Well, not like that.” I throw my hands into the air. “I came home and Wyatt was scrambling to put on his clothes and Miles was coming out of the shower naked.”

“There could be other explanations for that.”

I shoot to my feet. Nope, I was wrong. I’d rather she turn her back. This argument is churning my insides so much I might hurl the dinner we ate all over the kitchen floor. “They admitted it to me, okay? They’re in love with each other. I didn’t misunderstand or jump to conclusions.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to say next, I just know it.

“How long ago was this?”

Why the fuck does it matter? “I don’t know, a few months ago.”

“And when did you move in with Donnie?”

I see where this is going. I drop back into the chair and pull my feet up onto the seat. It’s too fast. It’s too soon. You shouldn’t jump into another relationship right away. Donnie and I have been through all that. We’ve sorted it out. It’s nobody’s business but our own. “Not long after.”

“Is that wise?” she asks, knowing full well that it’s not a question. It’s a judgment coached in a question so she can pretend she’s not being judgmental.

“Yeah, it is,” I say, because I know it’s not the response she wants. “Donnie and I are good together. Like, really good. But I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”

Mom flinches like I’ve slapped her across the face. Guilt floods into me, crashing against the anger and resentment until I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be feeling.

“What about the screenplay you’re working on with Wyatt?”

I set my jaw. “We’re not working together anymore.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re not going to try to reconcile?”

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