Page 123 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Ripley pales. I know she just hit a direct wound, and he has to be reeling from it right now. My heart shatters for him, but I need to show him I’m on his side.

That I believe in him.

That she’s fucking wrong.

“You don’t have the right to say terrible things to him,” I yell back. “You can’t talk to him this way. You don’t even know him.”

“And I apparently don’t know my own daughter, either. You’re betraying me just like your father. Just like his father! Just like my friends.”

“Get over yourself! I’m not betraying you!”

“The hell you aren’t.”

“And don’t you dare compare him to his father,” I say, my voice shaking with fury.

My neighbor to the right sticks his head out the door before ducking back inside.

Great. We’re the neighborhood Maury Povich Show now.

Tears flow down my cheeks. Ripley reaches for me, but my mother jumps between us.

“If you see my daughter again, you’ll be taking her away from her mother,” Mom says, crying, too. “Because I won’t stick around to watch you hurt her. I won’t watch you take her away from me.”

Ripley looks at me. He doesn’t look like the confident, slightly arrogant, self-assured man I know. He’s sad, frustrated, and slightly broken … just like me.

“Can I call you later?” I ask him softly.

“If you call him, I’ll never speak to you again,” Mom says, throwing down the gauntlet. “I won’t stand for it. I won’t have you running around with him when I know exactly what he’ll do to you.”

“Mom, that’s not fair.”

She shrugs as if she doesn’t care if it’s fair or not. And that’s probably true. She doesn’t.

Ripley nods at my mother as if he can’t help but show some sort of respect—because he’s such a good man—then he turns to me.

The pain in his eyes stabs me in the heart. Tears stream down my face, clouding my vision. But I know I see a shine of tears fog his gorgeous blue eyes, too.

He bows his head as if he can’t look at me, then gets into his car and drives off into the afternoon sun.

“I raised you better than this, Georgia Faith.”

I wipe my face, sniffling back snot. I don’t even care. “You raised me not to trust anyone. You taught me that the odds of being happy weren’t great. Because you had bad experiences with men, you taught me I should be wary of them, too.”

Her hand shakes around the wine bottle.

“I know you love me and were just trying to help protect me, Mom. But you just pushed away a great fucking guy because you are scared. How fair is that?”

“You don’t want him. You just think you do. You’ll be fine after a couple of weeks.”

I laugh angrily, taking a moment to pull myself together before I speak. “I know Ripley and I will be fine. It’s you and me that I’m not sure about.”

“What does that mean?”

I throw up my hands, exasperated. “I am thirty years old. Thirty! ” I yell it entirely too loud, but I don’t care. “I don’t want to be mean to you, but you’ve left me no choice.”

Mom takes a step back.

“I am an adult—a grown-ass woman capable of making my own choices. As a matter of fucking fact, I have a great life because of my choices. I have a job—which you don’t know about because you haven’t asked. It never occurs to you to think about anyone other than yourself.”

“That’s not true,” she says, her bottom lip quivering.

But I don’t care. I don’t care that she’s sad. I don’t care that she’s upset. I don’t give a flying fuck that I’m about to hurt her feelings because she doesn’t care about mine.

“Look at your life,” I say, refusing to back down. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You don’t have a job, aside from a part-time gig at a consignment store. You don’t have friends now—and that’s your fault, by the way.”

She gasps.

“You come to me for everything and give me nothing ,” I say, boring holes into her. “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about support. Camaraderie. Friendship. Motherly advice.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” I ask, my voice squeaking. “What’s my favorite color? Food? Movie? Cookie? I’ll wait.”

She stares at me.

“Exactly. But do you know who knows? Ripley has a jar of my favorite cookies in his house just in case I might swing by. He bought me purple gloves when we went ice-skating because he knows it’s my favorite color.

He knew I wasn’t adventurous when it comes to food, and when we went to this really ritzy place, and I panicked, he ordered food I liked for me. And you just ran him off! ”

I hold my temples, feeling a migraine coming on.

“I’m tired, Mom. I’m exhausted, and I can’t do this anymore. I’ve felt happier and more alive the last couple of days than I ever have, and you just ruined that for me.” I lift my gaze to hers. “It’s like you want me to be as miserable as you are.”

Tears fall down her cheeks, and I can’t find it in me to care.

I leave her with her pizza and wine and storm into my house. The image of Ripley’s face—the pain of being compared to and judged for being the son of the monster Reid Brewer—rips my heart in two pieces.

Ripley has protected me throughout my life. Now is the time I protect him.

Even if it kills me.

With the door locked behind me, I sob.