Page 51 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

Leah reached out, tucking a strand behind her ear. “So, I guess the question is,” she challenged softly, “is Tia Hightower a coward?”

* * *

There was too much swirling in her head to even think about talking to Henry.

So Tia pulled on her boss panties and portaled to her mom’s office instead.

As she’d suspected, even on Christmas Eve, Gloria was at her desk.

Except…she wasn’t working, she was staring at a photo frame.

At Tia’s entrance, her gaze jerked up and her body followed suit, sending the chair spinning.

“Where have you been?” her mom demanded, the stern note wobbling like a three-legged cauldron. “You haven’t been picking up any messages, the investment is dead and everyone knows the truth.”

Tia kept her hands in her pockets so her mom wouldn’t see them tremble. “Sorry it’s caused you embarrassment.”

This would normally be where her mom would chide her. Instead, what looked like real pain darkened her eyes. Tia’s eyes.

No wonder she looked more like her mom and not her dad.

“They found out about me,” she said, voice flat, disinterested, any trace of pain buried. “That’s why they killed the investment. Well, that and the fake relationship you made up and I went along with. So, I guess it’s both our faults.”

“Will you sit?”

“No.”

Her mom pursed her lips. “I know you’re angry,” she said quietly, “but nothing has to change.”

The office was so silent, Tia heard every fast jerk of her heart as she tried not to laugh. She had a horrible feeling if she started, she wouldn’t stop.

Gloria sighed, coming around her desk. She leaned her hips back against it, clasping the wooden lip until her knuckles showed. “Tia,” she repeated, “nothing has changed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tia shot back, half of her waiting for the castigation that never came. “You know what’ll happen to us.”

“Nothing. Because we’re Hightowers and they wouldn’t dare.”

“You might be, but since Dad isn’t…mine—”

Gloria flung up a hand. “Yes, he is. And it’d kill him to hear you say otherwise.”

A thousand regrets pricked her skin and she glanced away. “You know what I mean. Society isn’t going to be kind.”

“You never showed any interest in society. Why should it matter now?”

Henry’s face floated into her subconscious. “The company,” Tia answered, shoving him back out. “They’re not going to like it.”

“Fuck the company.”

For a minute, Tia thought she’d cracked. Because no way had her respectable mom just cursed like a seawitch.

“The company can wait,” Gloria continued, compounding Tia’s confusion. “Society can go fuck themselves, too. You’re more important.”

The words hammered into her, nails into a wooden pole. She felt wooden, numb as she blinked at her mom. You’re more important . Than a company. Than being a Hightower.

She’d never heard those words. Hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to. “You didn’t say that when I called.”

“It was still a secret then. And I thought… I thought having a purpose would help you. You’re always so much better with a goal than dealing with emotions.” Gloria’s smile was small. “A true Hightower.”

Was she, though? “So, everyone knows,” she said tonelessly. “What now?”

“Your nana is on the warpath against anyone daring to whisper about it in her presence. Your father and I had to confiscate several hex bags. You know what she’s like.”

Yep. Tia had learned from the best.

“We were waiting for you to discuss what to do next.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “ Now you’re willing to let me in on a discussion about my life?”

“Tia.”

“No. You should’ve told me. Unless…am I…” The words were difficult to shove out. “Are you ashamed of me?”

Sincere horror engulfed her mom’s face and her fingers twitched as if she wanted to throw herself off the desk. But they’d never been demonstrative. “ No ,” she breathed, sinking utter conviction into each letter. “Never. Peter—your dad and I, we always wanted you.”

“But only as a Hightower.”

“You are a Hightower,” her mom stubbornly insisted. “In all the ways that matter.”

Tia shrugged. “He must sometimes wonder.”

“Who?”

“Dad.” The word felt foreign. “Sometimes he’s so disappointed in me. He must wonder if he made the right choice. Maybe even regrets calling me his.”

Her mom moved then, years of tradition crumbling as she strode forward to grip Tia’s shoulders. “No,” she said firmly. “We’ve never regretted our decision to raise you as his. He’s never thought of you as anything but his.”

“But sometimes…”

“Never, Tia. If he’s disappointed, if he’s mad, if he’s sick with worry, it’s because he’s your father. Not because he isn’t.”

“He might regret it now.” Her stomach twisted; burning turned to nausea. “With everyone throwing it in his face.”

“You think anyone will dare?” Gloria raised an eyebrow.

Tia stopped. Her mom was right. Her dad was quiet, but he wasn’t a pushover. Otherwise, his personality would’ve been crushed under the weight of his mother and his wife, not to mention…

His daughter. If that was who she was.

A pained, soft noise escaped its chains. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Gloria lifted a hand to her chin, pinching it.

“You are, and always have been, Celestia Hightower. Nothing in this world has the power to change you. Finding out you and your father don’t share DNA.

That Higher society knows. Even when some small-minded witches—and there will be some—point it out.

Nothing can ever take away who you are.”

She let her eyes flutter closed. “Why not just tell me if you believe that?”

Gloria hesitated, letting go. “We thought it best not to.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

Bitterness rushed in, forcing itself down her throat. Out through her words. “Everyone lies because they know what’s best for me.”

“Better a harmless lie than a painful, pointless truth.”

“That’s such crap, Mom.” Tia paced away, jumbled up inside, a junk drawer with no hope of a fix. “It’s my life. I should know the truth.”

“Maybe. But we’ll always be your parents. We didn’t want to hurt you.”

From the stubborn tilt of her chin, Tia knew her mom wasn’t about to back down. And part of her could almost understand the reasoning. The rest of her was too sad and mad to want to be anything other than a screaming vortex of hurt.

“If I am who I am,” she challenged, fisting her hands on her hips, “why have you always pushed me to be better? To ‘be a Hightower’?”

Now her mom winced. She ran an unsteady hand through her hair, something that made Tia stare. Her mom was always composed.

“You were so different to other society witches when you were young. So wild and carefree. I was terrified the secret would come out when you were little and you wouldn’t understand why everyone was being cruel.

” Gloria licked her lips. “It’s not an excuse, but I guess it became habit.

A way to make you strive to be the best. I had no idea you ever felt you were a disappointment.

To us, you could never be anything but our bold and brilliant daughter. ”

She soaked that up, letting it fill the cracks. But there was one more thing. “And Henry?” Even saying his name aloud stung. “Did you push him on me to hide the truth?”

A weak smile tugged at Gloria’s lips. “No. That’s nothing more than a mother’s wish for a good match for her daughter. Especially with how compatible you are.”

“We argue all the time.”

“You like that.”

The statement set her back with its simple truth. She powered through. “Well, say goodbye to that dream because no way will Richard approve of me now.”

“Do you care? Wait.” Her mom’s instincts kicked in and she straightened. “Did… Did something happen in England?”

“We’re not talking about this.” She couldn’t.

She saw the struggle it took for her mom not to pry, appreciated it when she swallowed the questions. “Okay. Then what?”

She had no idea. She’d come here for answers, for some kind of resolution, but she wasn’t sure how anyone was supposed to brush something like this under the rug.

They’d lied to her. She struggled with that, unsure what to do. How to move forward. How to let go when she’d always hung on—to regrets, to old pain, to grudges.

“Tia.”

Her whole body stiffened at the masculine voice from the doorway. One that evoked memories of big hands mending skinned knees, of learning her first potion between strong arms, of grinning with him like a conspirator when her mom lost her temper.

She turned on wobbly legs. “Dad?” It was more breath than word.

He stood framed in the door, tall and solid and silent. A constant, calm presence in her life.

She hesitated, nerves binding her insides together, twisting and twisting.

Until he opened his arms.

A sob tore from her and she stumbled forward, sinking into them.

“My Tia,” Peter murmured into her hair as he rocked her slowly. “Forgive us.”

And as her dad—her dad —squeezed her tightly, Tia felt the grudge lodged under her breastbone slowly give way. And for the first time in her life, she let go.