Page 16 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

DANE

“ Y ou want the usual?” Serena asks, as she parks the squad car in front of Brewed Awakening.

We are on the morning shift today and will likely spend our day giving out speeding tickets and consoling some old lady who will inevitably call in some college kid for being “suspicious” for studying outside.

I just grunt in response as I continue to scroll rental listings on my phone.

Day shift is dull as shit, but it’ll give me time to research new living options for mom.

“God, you are extra grumpy today. You need to lose that attitude before you lose your partner.” Serena rolls her eyes as she climbs out of the car to get our coffees.

“Sorry—”

She slams her door a little too aggressively, cutting off my apology, signaling she is absolutely done with my attitude. I wince as the car rocks in her departure and make a mental note to buy her lunch today to make up for putting up with my grumpy ass .

My mood has been sour since Bryce’s ultimatum.

I’ve been trying to come up with a way to tell Bryce to go fuck himself over the Dom situation, while figuring out how to support Mom on my meager salary.

There’s no way I’m going to help him and fuck Serena and Kai over like that, but he’s been hounding me nonstop, putting me in a shittier and shittier mood.

It lifted briefly when Everly turned up at game night last night.

Being around her is like having the sun shine directly down on you.

And that kiss… Fuck… I was seconds away from pulling my dick out and letting her ride me and take everything she needed.

There was no denying the desperate need for connection between us.

If she hadn’t gotten spooked by the car driving by, there is no doubt we would have fucked in my brother’s driveway.

Instead, she ran away—again—and I went home and beat off in my shower—again.

Everly is a good woman. She’s not a cheater. She has a conscience. She won’t be the one who takes it that far, no matter how much my brother sucks as a husband.

I, however, have no problem giving my brother the ultimate fuck you by stealing his wife. She deserves better than being his trophy, and I’m going to prove to her that I’m better.

After an uneventful shift, I head over to see Mom.

I texted her that I would be coming by. I want to get a sense of how she might feel about moving…

and maybe living wi th her son. She fell into a deep depression after Dad died, and became reclusive to the point that I was basically raising myself and taking care of her.

It’s one more reason why Serena and I have bonded beyond just being partners at work.

We both were dealt shitty cards growing up.

Losing our dads at a young age and being forced to become caretakers for our remaining parent.

Bryce should’ve been the one to step in and take care of Mom, seeing as how he was an actual adult at the time.

But he did fuck all aside from helping with Dad’s estate, stopping by on the holidays, and selling the house once I graduated from the academy.

He claimed it was to use the proceeds to pay for a smaller place for Mom to live since she was no longer working.

I think it was his way of kicking me out. He couldn’t cut me off fast enough.

I haven’t missed out on the irony of him needing my help with a case that will advance his career significantly.

Once I figure out a viable solution to Mom’s living situation, I’ll talk to Serena about the evidence we had documenting Dominick’s abuse.

Make sure her and Kai’s alibis are airtight, then tell Bryce to get fucked.

I’m done with him thinking he can dictate my life.

I knock once on the front door before letting myself in.

Mom is usually in the back yard tending to her garden when I come by.

She’ll probably be tending to the last of her blooms before fall fully sets in and makes the temperatures drop.

She threw herself into gardening when she moved into this place and it’s the main reason why I am loathe to make her move.

It’s the one thing that’s brought her joy since Dad died.

If I have to find a place for us both to live on my salary, it’ll likely be a cramped, two-bedroom apartment with no yard.

When I step out on her small back deck, I find her watering her mums. There’s a pitcher of lemonade accompanied by two glasses and a plate of cookies sitting on the wrought iron table.

A wave of nostalgia hits me seeing the set up in front of me.

Lemonade and cookies used to be our routine when I would get home from school when I was young.

She always had them waiting, and she would sit with me and help me with homework or ask me how my day was.

That lasted until I was in high school and busy with sports and friends and chasing after girls.

Then she would only bring out the cookies and lemonade when she needed to have a serious talk with me about grades or something.

Then Dad died, and she stopped baking cookies.

She stopped getting out of bed. She stopped living.

I don’t remember the last time we sat and had lemonade and cookies.

“Hey, Ma. The mums are looking good.” I lean on the porch rail to get a better look at the purple, burgundy, and orange blooms that line the flower beds that surround the small porch.

Mom’s green eyes, the very same ones I inherited from her, light up when she sees me.

Her once charcoal dark hair is salt and pepper now, but her face still looks like the woman who raised me.

Just with a few more lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth.

Her mental health has improved a lot the past few years.

Not so much that she’s been able to bring herself to go back to work or really be around people, but she’s gotten to a good place of pursuing some hobbies and interests at home to occupy her time.

After setting aside the watering can and her garden gloves, she climbs the stairs and wraps me in a tight hug.

She smells like dirt and flowers and home.

I squeeze her tight, trying to hold on to this feeling of serenity before I shatter it with the news that she might have to move.

“What’s with the cookies, Ma? You haven’t baked in years.” I snag a cookie as she pours the lemonade. Oatmeal chocolate chip. My favorite.

“The urge just hit me when you sent that text earlier. It sounded like you needed to talk. Everything okay, sweetie?” I fight the urge to cringe at the endearment.

Around the age of twelve I decided I was too cool for my mom to call me sweetie, so I asked her to stop.

Hearing it now just reminds me of how much I took for granted before our lives were completely upended.

Suddenly I’m the same young boy who just wants his mom to tell him what to do.

This is the mother who used to listen to me when I complained about bullies in school.

The woman who patiently helped me with algebra when I struggled thanks to my dyscalculia.

This is the woman who tried so damn hard to keep the peace between me and my brother, even though the friction between us ran so much deeper than typical sibling rivalry.

Now I get to tell her how no matter how much she tried to help us bond, it would never be enough.

I open my mouth to mention the move but surprise myself when a question comes out instead. “Why does Bryce hate me so much? ”

Mom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she looks off to the trees that line the back of the property. Her eyes get that faraway look I became all too familiar with when she was so lost after losing her husband.

“I know he blamed Dad for Brian leaving, but why take it out on me?”

She lets out a deep sigh before turning her attention back to me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“My relationship with Brian wasn’t great.

It started out okay. We were college sweethearts.

He proposed as soon as we graduated. I thought we had it all figured out.

We graduated, got married, bought a house, and got pregnant with Bryce all in the same year.

Things were great. Then Brian got a good job in finance, and he had all these big aspirations to become some hot shot CEO.

The more money he made, the more time he spent at work.

It got to the point where he was traveling so much for business deals that we barely ever saw him.

It was just me and Bryce for so long. He was such a momma’s boy, but every time Brian came home from work, Bryce would look at him like he hung the moon.

Then one night, when he was home, I woke up, and he wasn’t in bed.

I got up to look for him and heard him talking in his office.

He was talking to another woman. I won’t go into detail, but needless to say, it wasn’t just a business conversation.

” Mom pauses, taking a sip of her lemonade.

She makes a face and stands up. “Hang on, this conversation calls for something stronger.”

I wait as she disappears into the house. When she returns, she is carrying a small bottle of vodka. She pours a healthy measure into both of our lemonades before resuming her story.

“I was so hurt and so angry. I thought he worked so hard to provide for us, but it turned out he took all those business trips because he had a mistress in another city. Multiple in fact. I learned that after I did some investigating.”

“Why didn’t you just divorce him, Ma?” It hurts to see Mom relive some of her most painful memories, but I want to know the truth. I want to know why my brother hates me so much.