Page 44

Chapter twenty-one

Control

P oppy stared at the envelope in her hands, trying not to shake with trepidation.

It’s a big envelope , she reassured herself. The Social Security Administration wouldn’t use a big envelope for bad news, would they?

Except they would. Envelope size meant nothing when it came to official communications.

She remembered fooling herself with the same metrics back when it had been college application time, and then much later when she’d received legal correspondence from Beaumont Book Group and Brendan Butthead Beaumont, and she remembered feeling an idiot when her envelope-based expectations had been crushed.

She had to open it to find out.

She glanced from the streetside mailbox toward her mom’s front porch, then shook herself and hurried back to her own door.

Rai was in the main house chatting with her mother over coffee, after a morning spent in bed.

She’d fetched her sketchbook at some point and fleshed out some of her sketches while they were cuddling, pretending to be productive when she knew it was just a different way of making love, her pencil tracing the curves of his muscles as he preened under her eyes.

But he was part of a fantasy world, part of the make-believe land where she was an artist with a romantic lover and a life that was made of laughter and orgasms and rainbows.

He didn’t need to be present for this real-life bombshell that belonged to shitty-life Poppy.

Especially if it was anything other than good news.

The couch cushions were still back in the studio covered with drapery, but she sat on the couch anyway, the springs of the worn suspension creaking as they dug into her butt. The discomfort grounded her in reality.

She worked her fingers under the flap and ripped the envelope open.

Poppy had read enough government paperwork by now to know to skim for important words like decision . She found it on the second page, read the sentence below, read it again, and flung the letter onto the coffee table.

Fuck.

She didn’t have time to take a breath before she burst into tears.

It wasn’t worth fighting them, she knew that, so she just buried her face in her hands and heaved with sobs for a few moments before she pulled herself together and got back to business.

With a bracing breath, she picked up the letter and opened it again to where she’d stopped reading, forcing herself to read on, page after page after—

“Is all well?”

Rai’s voice startled her into dropping the letter on the table again, and she belatedly realized that tears were still on her cheeks. She scrubbed them away impatiently. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m…”

His eyebrows went up in clear disbelief.

“I’m not okay,” she admitted, curling in upon herself. He slid onto the cushionless couch beside her and drew her into his arms.

“I am sorry,” he said. “Did I say something I should not have?”

“No!” she interrupted, though she could feel her cheeks going pink. “I mean, there are things Mom doesn’t need to know about, even if you think they’re super cute. You’re not what I’m not okay about.”

He knuckled her chin up, kissing tears off her cheeks. “I am here.”

Poppy managed a ragged laugh, then tilted up to meet his lips, desperately seeking comfort in his mouth, the cool strength of his body against hers, the reassuring rumble of his chest. He kissed her back, his desperation almost matching hers, but he drew away too soon, brushing fresh tears she hadn’t even noticed away from her cheeks.

“I am here,” he repeated. “And you are distressed, not desirous.”

“Why can’t I be both?” Poppy let him draw her onto his lap.

Which did not have springs, just hard muscle relaxed enough to be comfy.

She almost resented it, that he could be so comforting when her mom’s future, her future, was falling apart, but most of her knew that the resentment was just the part of her that wanted to wallow in misery.

And she didn’t want to be that person. Not really.

Rai stroked her hair, tucking her into his chest, and did not speak.

“It’s Mom’s disability claim,” she said at last. “They rejected it.”

He let out another comforting rumble. “Your mother seems quite capable. Her bread is most delicious.”

“That’s not—” Poppy heaved a ragged sigh. “It’s not about being able to bake a loaf of bread. It’s about being able to hold down a job. And she… Well, she tried. But jobs aren’t real good about working around OCD meltdowns.”

He inhaled a deep breath, let it out. “I do not understand.”

Poppy laughed wryly. “Most people don’t.

But if Mom hadn’t had Dad, she would have had to apply for disability a long time ago.

She was his assistant, and she was good at being his assistant because he could work her assistance around her condition.

And it wasn’t so bad when he was alive, either.

But it’s like I told you. When he died, it got worse.

And she can do the same things to help me, but I don’t make enough money to support both of us.

He had a career. And let’s face it. All I have is a hobby. ”

His arms tightened. “You are brilliant.”

Poppy stifled the automatic denial. “That doesn’t matter.”

“But I have commissioned you.” His voice was quiet and sad. As if he knew that his commission was just a moment’s respite.

“And when you leave, I’ll be back to transcripts.” She snagged the letter off the table. “I was counting on this, on Mom’s disability being approved so that she can get survivor’s benefits early. Otherwise she has to wait another seven years, until she’s sixty.”

“That is…a long time.”

Poppy laughed and it turned into a sob. She buried her face in his chest and let the tears flow again. Just for a moment.

A moment was all she could afford.

“It’s okay,” she said at last. “I can file an appeal. They said they need more doctors’ records, and…and I can get those. It’ll just take time.” She straightened her back, lifted her chin. Braced herself for the fight ahead.

She was just so tired of fighting.

“Your mother awaits us,” Rai murmured, stroking along her spine.

Poppy breathed deep. His hand on her lower back was firm and soothing, and it gave her strength.

Just a little, but it was enough to get her moving forward again.

“Yeah. Yeah. All right.” With a grateful smile, she rubbed her cheek against his and stood, taking his hand and drawing him up after her.

She dropped the letter back on the table.

Rai picked it up and handed it to her. “I will help you tell your mother of—”

“What? No!” Poppy snatched the letter away and tossed it off to the side. “I can’t tell her.”

“But you must.” Rai frowned, his eyes wide with confusion.

Something stabbed behind her forehead, cold and sharp. “I said no. ”

“But your mother must know of this. You must tell her.”

Brendan’s voice sounded in her head. You’ll do what I tell you.

“Stop!” Poppy stepped back. Her heart was racing—far too fast. Her face felt cold and hot at the same time.

Rais mouth opened, and he said something, but all she heard was of course you’re not going you don’t need to go you’re overreacting I said you’re not going—

“ Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped.

Rai froze, hands up. “Poppy, what is wrong?”

“I… I don’t know.” Except she did. Fuck, what was the breathing she was supposed to do? Inhale for four, hold for seven, out for eight…

Rai gripped her shoulders, and she lost count. “You are upset.”

I knew you’d be a drama queen about this.

Nausea roiled in her gut. “ Stop. ” In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. “Let go of me. Please.”

Rai’s hands released their grip and she vaguely sensed him moving away. Thankfully, he stayed silent. It was easier to tell Brendan’s words to fuck off when they weren’t overlapping with Rai’s, blending with them, reflecting them.

Four. Seven. Eight. On the exhale she managed to say, “Just give me a minute.” Four. Seven. Eight. “It’s not you.”

Or is it ?

She ignored that voice, too, the one that was hers, except the doubtful version, the self-accusing voice that had always told her Brendan was right, that she was the one who was crazy, disloyal, wrong. The one that didn’t think she could have anything good because she didn’t deserve anything good.

Four. Seven. Eight. A few more Brendanisms tried to assert control. She shoved them away and counted. Four. Seven. Eight.

Her heartbeat started to slow.

Words were still racing through her brain, Brendan’s words, all the vicious words he’d flung at her when she’d dared to defy him, to come to help her mother.

All the things he’d said to control her, to manipulate her, to bend her to his will.

But the four-seven-eight was working. She could feel it now, her body going back to the measured equilibrium she’d been fighting for.

But of course she could feel Rai watching her, too.

God, he must think she was insane, overreacting.

Crazy. Which… Okay, she technically was, but so was half the country, and she of all people should know that mental health issues were just health issues and she shouldn’t put herself down for being triggered.

And while she knew it wasn’t about Rai, it wasn’t him at all, that didn’t matter because he’d pulled that trigger all unknowing.

It was that fucking letter, her shields had been down from that goddamn letter, and she had to just breathe and let the meaningless, cruel words wash over her, through her, let them have their way and pass, and she breathed and breathed and breathed and then they…

they weren’t gone, but they were quieter, just a whisper behind her eyes, quiet enough that she could look at Rai again.