Page 76

I sighed, my breath lifting the hair falling across my forehead. “Sorry, Mom. I thought you were someone else.”
“Who on earth do you call Roach? That’s a terrible nickname.”
“I thought it was Rebel.”
She paused. “Miranda’s daughter Rebel?”
Was there another? “Yes.”
“Oh. Why would she be calling you?”
I wasn’t getting into the whole story with her. I couldn’t explain the woman had gotten under my skin since the moment I’d spotted her in the bar. My mother certainly didn’t need to know I’d spent weeks wanting to do unspeakable things with her. Or that she’d let me, right on the middle of my father’s desk. “There’s inheritance stuff to sort out.”
“What does your inheritance have to do with her?”
I turned on a blinker, getting off the freeway at the Saint View exit. “You didn’t read the will? Dad left her money.”
Mom sniffed. “Your father was a good man. Of course he left her a little something.”
“I wouldn’t call half a little something.”
“Half!”
“Yeah, but it’s fine. I’m sorting it out. Dad wanted her taken care of, and I’ll make sure I honor his wishes.” I didn’t know what that would mean for my wife, who was expecting me to financially bail her out. Again. I wasn’t sure I cared, despite the unpleasant package of her hair I’d been trying to forget about.
For the tiniest of seconds, I considered I could just let the guys after Brooke have her. If they killed her, she wouldn’t be my problem anymore. I could stay here, with Kian and Rebel.
I could be fucking happy for the first time since high school. Broke maybe. But happy.
But then Brooke’s blood would be on my hands, even if I wasn’t the one who killed her.
I couldn’t live with that. “Sorry, Mom, but did you actually need something? I’m kind of busy.”
“Right! I’m sorry. I was hoping you might come over for dinner over the weekend? I’ve barely seen you since you came home. You haven’t even seen the renovations we did. I’d really like to help with the funeral arrangements too, if you’d like that?”
Relief filled me. The funeral planning had been hanging over my head for weeks. I didn’t even know where to start. “I would. Very much. Thanks, Mom.”
“Not a problem.” She paused for a second then asked, “Would Rebel like to come for dinner as well? I can’t call her Roach though. That name is dreadful. But it seems like the two of you have become friends…”
We were so much more than friends. Yet somehow less at the same time. I had no idea where I stood with her. But I couldn’t imagine her wanting to have dinner with my parents, even if the idea sounded kinda nice. “I don’t think so. It might be hard for her to be at a family event after she just lost her only living relative, you know?”
“Of course. Whatever you think. I just thought she might be lonely.”
I instantly felt like a jackass, especially because my quick denial was mostly fueled by being scared of Rebel rejecting me. I wanted to sit at a table beside her, her leg warm against mine, my hand on her knee while we chatted with my parents about mundane things. I couldn’t imagine her doing it, but I wanted it anyway. “I’ll ask her.”
I could practically hear my mother’s smile. “Wonderful. I’ll see you both on Sunday night then, okay? It’ll be wonderful to get to know her. And to see you.”
I hung up before she could get her hopes up any further. But mine were kind of up too.
I’d barely been off the phone a minute when my caller display lit up again. This time with Harold Coker’s name. I cancelled the call immediately, but the damage had been done.
The dread wrapped around my heart had lifted while I’d been talking to my mom. For a minute, it had been nice to think about taking Rebel home to meet my parents properly. To what it might be like to have a real relationship with a woman, not one where I was just an accessory on her arm and a limitless credit card.
But one look at that caller display reminded me I wasn’t free to offer Rebel anything. By the time I reached Saint View Hospital, asking Rebel to come to a family dinner with me felt like a very bad idea.
It would give me a taste of what a life with her could feel like.
Then Harold Coker would ruin the entire fucking thing, by faking evidence to throw at the two people I cared most about.