Page 110 of Every Thought Taken

Time apart may have scarred over the wounds my mother inflicted on me, but one ten-minute interaction with her and the scar tissue is slowly tearing at the seams.

“Fuck.” I kick the foot of Ales’s guest bed.“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Cherry on top of the chaos sundae… I shut down on Helena. When dinner ended hours ago, I walked her home. Outside her front door, I told her it’d be best if I stayed with Ales tonight. I didn’t miss the hurt in her eyes, but she nodded and kissed my cheek before ducking her chin and whispering good night.

Instead of letting her light guide me from the dark path my mind walked down, I pushed her away. And I’m more pissed about that than everything else.

The front door opens, Braydon shushing Ales as she giggles. Not like she’d actually wake anyone. They don’t know I’m here and the exterior walls are brick over cinder block. The neighboring tenants would only hear something if it was cranked to deafening levels.

I whip open the bedroom door and pad down the hall to the living room. Ales spots me first, slapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to mask her drunken laughter.

“Sorry, A.” She snort-laughs. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“It’s fine.” I go to the fridge and grab a water. “Can we talk? Or are you too drunk?”

Immediately, she stops laughing. Solemnity blanks her face as her eyes roam every inch of mine. “What’s wrong?”

I plaster on a fake smile, untwist the cap on the water, and take a long pull from the bottle. “Bumped into Joan and Samuel on the way to dinner.”

At this point, it makes my skin crawl to call them Mom and Dad. For me, they don’t deserve the title. True parents don’t degrade their children. True parents don’t make their children feel less than. All Joan Everett has done for me is remind me how much she never wanted a son. She never confessed it outright, but I am no fool. As for Samuel Everett, the few times he stood up for me, she shoved him back down with a menacing glare.

I’d like to think my sperm donor still has the chance to grow a backbone, but his reaction tonight tells me otherwise. Like always, he coddles her. Acts like he’s trying to defuse the situation but doesn’t possess the strength to do so.

And I refuse to open my arms to a man that can’t stand up for himself. If he isn’t strong enough to love and sustain his own life, how the hell will he do it for anyone else?

Ales takes my hand and hauls me toward the couch. “Do you want Braydon to leave the room?”

I shake my head. “No. He should stay.” I meet his gaze as he sits on the other side of Ales. “Secrets do no one any good.”

“Okay.” She sandwiches my hand between hers. “Talk to me.”

Over the next hour, I tell her about the encounter with our parents. Every ugly word from our mother’s mouth, every cowardly move our father made—or rather, didn’t make—and each fuse it lit inside my veins the longer I stood there. I spill the pain of my reopened wounds. How one interaction with her enraged me and sliced me open simultaneously.

Tears blur my vision as I confess that repairing the relationship with my parents may be a lost cause. As much as I’d love to meet in the middle and start fresh with our parents, I fear it may not be possible. If Joan Everett isn’t willing to let go of the past and make peace in order to move forward, we are at a stalemate.

I won’t compromise my integrity, disregard the years of therapy I endured, or cast aside the work I put in to reach this healthy point in my life to appease a woman who won’t extend an ounce of effort. If she wants to be a part of my life, if she is willing to work toward a happier future, I will forgive the hurt she inflicted in the past. I will let it all go if she is as willing to wipe the slate clean as I am.

If not… I refuse to let her rob me of a wondrous and passionate future. Whether it be in Lake Lavender or on the road or both. Because, damn it, I deserve happiness.

Ales drops my hand and scoots across the couch until she is in my lap. Her arms wrap around my middle and crush my rib cage. A groan rumbles in my throat, but she doesn’t ease up. If anything, she hugs me harder. Lends me her strength. Pours every ounce of love into the firm embrace.

“Love you, A.” She loosens her hold and twists to kiss my temple. “Whatever you need, I’m here.” She inches back enough to pin me with a somber stare. “Always.”

My lips meet her forehead. “Thank you.”

“Is Lena okay?” She scoots off my lap and resumes her spot on the couch. Braydon grabs her hips, hauls her into his lap, and bands his arms around her waist. “She doesn’t do well with confrontation.”

So wrapped up in my thoughts and anger I shut out the one person I shouldn’t have tonight. Knowing her, she is probably on the couch, in the dark, crying because I went into protection mode.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I was an idiot, Ales.” I cover my face with my hands, audibly exhale, and drag them through my unruly hair. “I freaked out tonight, went into crisis mode, and abandoned her on her doorstep.”

Jackass. I am a goddamn jackass.

Yes, I have to sort through all this shit in my head. But deserting her when we’ve worked so damn hard to get to this better place, that screwup is on me. And I need to do damage control. Now.

“It was a shoddy move, but she’ll forgive it.” A soft smile grazes her lips. “She loves you and respects your need for space.”

---