Page 56 of Imogen

She side-eyes me. “Oh, I know. Both of them.”

“Explain,” I order gently.

“I went to Dad’s office to get answers. I found a stack of hidden files. Every page is burnt into my brain, and I can’t unsee them. I know everything. My biological mum was a whore who sold herself, slept around, took drugs, and left me to die in the hospital. My mum, she’s actually my aunt, and I was left with her from birth,” she chokes out. “That’s not even all of it. When I was still a baby, I was kidnapped and taken to a crack house because that woman put me down as collateral. Like I’m a fucking house or a car.”

“There has to be a mistake,” I stress, my heart breaking for her, but then a memory surfaces. “Holy fucking shit!”

“What?”

“When I was in the hospital, your mum and dad visited me. I was blaming myself over something that didn’t happen. Emily, the woman I was protecting, has a little girl. Long story short, I tried to get Cole to bring Emily and their daughter back home and to apologise. If he had listened to me, Poppy might not have survived that night,” I utter before getting to the point. “Your mum told me she knew someone once who was looking after a baby. When the baby was kidnapped, the babysitter and the parents blamed themselves. It was you, Immy. It has to be. I could see the pain in her eyes and hear it in her tone.”

“Yes, that was me. I read the statements,” she chokes out. “All these years, I’ve been proud of who my mum is. She has always been my hero, the person I look up to. She’s my favourite person in the entire world,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “When all my friends moaned about how unfair their mum was, I felt sorry for them. Because your mum is the most important person in your life. She’s the one who paves your way until you can do it on your own. She’s the person who will always be on the sidelines cheering you on and will always be in your corner when things go wrong.”

“That doesn’t change now.”

“But don’t you see? I didn’t come from her. I didn’t get her smile or her looks. I didn’t get her strength or her heart. I came from a woman who would rather inject smack than see if her daughter survived.”

I grip her cheeks, the pain in her voice undoing me. I’ve never heard pain like it. At least, not since my mum announced our dad had died. “That woman isn’t your mother, Immy. Kennedy is. And you are the very best of your parents, and I bet they would agree. She may not have given birth to you, but she’s your mother in every sense of the word. She chose you, Imogen. She chose to be your mum.” I wipe her tears away, taking a breath. “Does this change how you feel about her? Are you going to stop calling her mum?”

“No. Because she’ll always be my mum, no matter what a piece of paper says.”

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. “Then what’s with all the tears?”

Her chin wobbles. “Because how can she stand to look at me? I must remind her of her sister and all the things she did. Mum got beaten badly as a warning, and in my dad’s statement, he tells them how she was going to give me up to protect me. She got hurt because of me and where I came from.”

She downs her vodka so I pour her another glass. “And she’d do it all again because she loves you.”

“How can they love me? How?” she chokes out. “For Mum, I’m a constant reminder of what her sister put her through. And for my dad, I’m a constant reminder of what happened to him and what he went through. My brother was conceived out of love. I was conceived out of darkness during a heinous act. How can they stand to look at me? How? I’m hurting them by just being here.”

I pull her into my arms, holding her close as she bawls into my shoulder. “I don’t think that is how they see you, Imogen. Anyone who has been witness to your relationship can see how much they love you. I think once you move aside everything you’ve found out, you’ll see how special their love for you is. It surpasses the bond between parent and child. You have to see that. You’ve said yourself that your friends’ relationships with their parents were nothing like how yours was. That’s because of the connection you all share. It’s rare to be best friends with your parents,” I announce softly. “I love my mum and I would die for her. I would do just about anything to make her happy, and she loves me just as much. But we aren’t like you and your parents. Not even close. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just that it’s not the same.”

“I want it to stop hurting,” she cries. “I want to get all the pages I read out of my mind.”

“It’s going to be okay, Imogen. I promise.”

She pulls back and tilts her head up to say something, but nothing comes out. I get lost in her hazel eyes, and for a second, I forget the reason she came here. Her lips tempt me, and it takes me a moment to realise I’m slowly drifting towards her, and the back of my fingers are running along her jaw.

Pulling back, I distract myself by pouring her another drink.

She glances down at her drink before looking away. “I should get going.” She hesitates. “They are probably still out looking for me.”

“Stay,” I blurt out. “You’ve had a few drinks and you’re in no condition to drive. Stay. You can take the bed and I’ll sleep out here.”

She arches a brow. “I’m not the one recovering from a stab wound.”

“I’ll probably get more sleep out here anyway,” I lie.

She bites on her lower lip, her gaze moving to the door. “I don’t know,” she frets.

“I can drive you home if you prefer,” I offer. I don’t want her to feel forced to stay. “It’s not a problem.”

She places her glass down on the coffee table before crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not ready to go home and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” she confesses.

I grab the remotes from the side table and turn on the television. I hand her a controller. “Then let’s kick some arse on the game you scored for me.”

Her nose crinkles. “You aren’t tired?”

“I couldn’t sleep tonight so this saves me from staring up at the ceiling for hours.” I grab the other controller before continuing. “And when you’re ready to go home, I’ll drive you back. Whenever you’re ready.”

---