Page 112 of 1 Last Shot

She doesn't even look surprised. She merely raises an eyebrow and waits for me to continue the speech she's heard a thousand times before.

"I'm not going to give you the money," I repeat. "I'mnevergoing to give you the money. I'm done enabling you.”

She rolls her eyes at that, but her stance is stiff as she crosses her arms in front of her. "You always did have such a ridiculous conscience. It's notenabling, Kane, there's nothing wrong with me. But if you want to protect your precious conscience and put the burden on me, then don't look at it as enabling: look at it as protecting yourself. Because it would take only one call to get you fired from that disgusting club, one call to ruin—”

"I don't care," I cut her off. My voice is hard, harder than it's ever been with her. "I don't care about your threats, about losing my job, about you following me around like a lost little puppy for the rest of your life and trying to get me fired from every job I'll ever have. I don't care. I've survived being fired before, I can do it again. I don't care."

I pause and watch her expression turn suspicious. I've tried to say no to her before, but never like this.Thisis different.

I can see the moment she realizes that. Can see as she goes from surprised, to flustered, to angry.

"Youmight have experience with being a fuckup, but your preciousgirlfrienddoesn't," she snarls. "How do you think she'd handle being looked at like the scum of the group if they found out how she's been spending her free time? If they knew she's been dating a drug dealer and a pimp, a fucking waste of space that funnels illegal shit through his club? Do youreallythink she'd stay with you then?" She barks out a laugh, the sound dripping with cruelty.

My hands squeeze into fists in my lap.Thisis the moment I was most scared of, the moment she would threaten Isabella.

I knew it was coming. I knew if nothing else worked, that she would be smart enough to see this as her ace. And of all the threats she's ever made, this is the one that will make me flip my shit.Thisis the one that scares me the most, the one that is most likely to make me give in. Becausethisis the thing that I hold dearest.

I suck in a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself, to soothe the anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach. The emotion that will likely always be there, but that I have hope I can twist to show as passion instead of hate-filled rage.

I'm vibrating with the need to control it, still not entirely sure Ican, when I feel a weight press against my leg.

I look down to find Oscar staring up at me with the gaze that only dogs are capable of, the one that saysI know, and I'm here. And I immediately feel the calmness that I was just searching so hard for immediately seep into my body.

Taking another deep breath, I turn my attention back to my mom. "I'm not going to give you the money," I repeat again.

Something about my tone registers for her.Somethingfinally makes it clear that I'm being serious, that I've finally reached my limit with her. That I'm not going to give in to her, ever again.

Her expression shifts again. She's back to surprised, and then desperate, and finally a bone-deep expression ofpanicsettles over her features.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a hard life, but I’m done feeling bad for you,” I say in as hard of a voice as I can muster. “It shouldn’t be a child’s job to look after a parent, especially if that parent has done nothing but make their life hell on earth.”

Panic morphs to guilt, though the emotion isn't blazing nearly as brightly as the others were. Part of me is glad to see she can feel it, but it's obvious that she has a long way to go before she can own her actions and apologize for them.

“I deserve to have a mother who loves me. Whoactuallyloves me. Not one who is only nice to her child when she needs something, and who disappears as soon as she’s gotten what she wants. That’s not love. That’s some fucked up version of it that you’ve latched on to. I don’t know if it’s because of your addiction, or if it’s just your shitty personality, but I deserve more than that.”

The accusation in my words is like a trigger. I see the moment she becomes defensive—the moment it all turns to fury.

But I don’t wait for the explosion. I brought her here to say my piece, and I’m going to say all of it.

“I don't want you in my life anymore,” I finish. “Not until you can talk to me without begging, or mocking, orthreateningwith something. I'm out. I don't want any part of this game you're playing."

Sure enough, the explosion is immediate. “You ungrateful little shit,” she snarls, standing from her seat on the couch. “You thinkyoudeserve more? You’re delusional. You haveno ideawhat I’ve done for you. I never asked to get knocked up with you, and yet I’ve sacrificed more than you couldever—”

“Get out of my apartment,” I interrupt coldly as I stand.

She starts to shake, her hands clenching into fists. “Give me thefuckingmoney, Kane, or I swear toGod—”

“Get out of my fucking apartment,” I repeat, louder this time. I’d really prefer not to call the cops on my own blood, but I’m so far done with her that I’ll do it if I have to.

Her eyes practically bug out when she realizes justhowdone with her I am. She looks like she wants to yell more, or maybe even hit me, so before she can do that, I walk over to the front door. And whether my strength comes from Oscar, or Isabella, or even knowing I have the support of my teammates… something gives me the final push to open the door and stand pointedly beside it.

"Bye, Kara," I say quietly.

Her eyes widen at the name, and all anger melts from her body into a puddle of shock. I’vealwayscalled her Mom. Even in the worst moments of her manipulation and abuse, she was always Mom.

No longer.

It seems to be the thing that finally convinces her I’m not going to change my mind the way I usually do. Whether she stays here and trashes my apartment, or comes back in a few weeks and gets me fired, I’m done.

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