Page 172 of If You Claim Me

“Yeah.” He looks across the room. “Isn’t that the same woman Quinn brought to your wedding?”

I stiffen.

“Sorry, man.” He claps me on the shoulder, expression shifting to chagrin. “I didn’t mean to pour salt on that wound.”

“It’s okay. It’s my fault it’s bleeding. And yeah, that’s Lovey Butterson. They’ve been friends since childhood.”

He nods. “I remember her being around when we were at the Hockey Academy. They don’t really give me the friends vibe, though.”

“Yeah, I agree with you there, but maybe they’re not ready to own it.” Like how I wasn’t ready to own my feelings for Mildred. “Especially with how close their families are.”

“I know how complicated that can be.”

“It worked out for you, though.” I rub the back of my neck as my gaze catches on my wife. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to dig myself out of the hole I made, too.”

Mildred looks stunning in the wine-colored dress she wore to her bridal shower. And I love that she’s wearing it again. This is a rebellion of epic proportions as far as my family is concerned.She’s across the room, surrounded by her friends, talking to Meems. Mildred is smiling, but she looks tired. I wonder if she’s having the same problem sleeping that I am. For a few months, the away games were manageable because I knew I’d be able to wrap myself around her when I got home. Now her absence in our bed has made sleep elusive. Grace Manor only feels like home when she’s in it.

“What the fuck?” Tristan mutters, pulling me out of my head and back to the present.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you know your parents were coming?”

“I wasn’t aware.” Although I haven’t been on speaking terms with my father. I kind of thought my mother wasn’t either.

Yet sure enough, my parents are standing together near the entrance. My father looks polished and put together, as if unaffected by the relentless bad press of the past several days. On the surface, my mother also seems put together, but I know this has been hard on her.

My sisters are the ones my mother leans on when she needs support, but I sent a fruit bouquet and her in-home massage therapist to Portia’s last week when she was staying there so my mother would know I was on her side. She called me a few days ago and broke down, apologizing for…everything. It doesn’t fix anything for either of us, but at least we’re both acknowledging that even when shit goes sideways, we’re still family.

“I’ll be back,” I tell Tristan.

“We’ve got yours,” he says.

I cross the room, heading for the man who has always made me feel like less-than so he can feel bigger. I’m done making my own life more difficult. I don’t have to create fights where there are none.

My mother looks appropriately nervous at my approach. I lean in and kiss her cheek. She doesn’t need me to tear her down more than my father already has. I turn to him and offer a placidsmile. “I hope you’re here to offer support and not stir shit up since you don’t always deem this library worthy of funding.”

He rolls his shoulders back. “Your mother thought it would be good press for us to attend, that it might help repair some of the damage that’s been done.”

“Don’t you mean the damageyou’vedone?”

His jaw works. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The whole world knows what I’m talking about. At least own the fact that you messed up instead of trying to gaslight everyone into believing whatever fiction you’ve created in your head. You didn’t think about anyone but yourself. Youneverthink about anyone but yourself.” I stop myself and lower my voice, because the last thing my mother needs is more people talking. “Because if you did, you would see how unbelievably lucky you are to have someone who is willing to stand at your side after you’ve disgraced not only your name, but your entire family. How does it feel to be the embarrassment instead of the embarrassed?”

“I made one mistake?—”

“You mean on top of this one?” I tap my chest.

“You’ve made your point, Connor.”

“Have I, though? It’s not everyone you’ve affected that you’re worried about. It’s just how you appear. You don’t care if your daughters can’t leave the house without being heckled. You don’t give a shit that you broke my mother’s heart, or that you went out of your way to make my wife feel like trash. I spent my entire childhood seeking your approval. I don’t want it or need it anymore, especially not after your hypocrisy and the way you so carelessly humiliated our family.”

Mildred and Hemi move to the stage, seeking the audience’s attention so they can announce the winners of the silent auction. Meems has found her way over to us. She steps in to kiss my mother on the cheek, but doesn’t greet my father with the same affection. He’s lucky she doesn’t stomp on his foot. I know she’d like to.

I move to stand between my mother and Meems, bending down to whisper an apology for not bringing her something to drink, although it looks like someone else took care of it.

“The handsome one with hands the size of baseball mitts brought this to me.” She squeezes my arm. “Everything okay?”