Page 24 of The Burdens We Share (Satan’s Angels #3)

Dallas

We made it to the hotel and dropped our bags off before hopping in the car Selene sent for us. Our hotel suite has two bedrooms, mine right next to Ivory’s as it should be. I need to be close to her at all times.

We’re on the way to Ivory’s childhood home and I don’t fail to notice the little devil anxiously playing with her hands in her lap and tapping her foot on the floor of the car.

She stares out the window, watching people honk at each other and rage.

I frown at the sights and sounds. I never cared much for New York, particularly Staten Island.

From my research, it didn’t seem as though Ivory was ever anxious about being around her family. “Ivory,” I cut through the silence of the car.

She looks at me immediately, a small, worried frown on her face. “What?”

I raise a brow at her, “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head a little too quickly, “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

I give her a look that tells her I don’t buy it and she sighs, “I’m just nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous to see your family?”

She sighs, suddenly looking incredibly exhausted. “I’ve never brought a guy home with me. My mom can be a little…intense,” she says awkwardly.

So her nerves over seeing her family are because of me.

I’m well versed in her life in general, but particularly her family life.

Her mother is a serial dater, much like Harvey’s mom.

She treats her kids more like her friends than her children.

No wonder why her son is so troubled. “I’m not worried about it,” I try to be reassuring, but my voice comes out more stern.

She frowns, “But I am.”

“For what reason?” I press her.

Ivory scoffs at me like I’m missing pivotal information, “My mom might push us for details and stuff about our fake relationship. I don’t like lying to her and I know she’s gonna put me on the spot with questions about you. About us.”

I try to soften my eyes as much as I can, but I’m sure they look strained. “Let me help answer the questions. Stop worrying so much. You aren’t alone, I’m here with you.”

She gives me a long look before she sighs, “Yeah, I know. That might be the problem.”

I frown, “Just focus on what you came here to do. Focus on your brother.”

She groans, tossing her head back, “Fucking Sam.”

I smirk, “What? Can’t handle a sixteen-year-old?”

Her head rolls to the side so she can face me, an unamused look on her face, “You don’t understand. He’s not just any sixteen-year-old. He is a terror. He’s always talking back, never knows when to shut his fucking mouth, and is always thinking of ways he can get into more trouble.”

I want to say, Actually, I do understand. I understand very well. But if I say that, I’m admitting that I did my homework on her. Extensively.

The car rolls to a stop and I watch as Ivory’s shoulders tense.

She stares at me blankly and I take the opportunity to assess her features.

Her eyes have a shadow under them that one would get from not sleeping.

I’ve seen her sleeping here and there. Whether or not she’s sleeping enough is another question.

But I know that can’t be the only reason she has the shadows under her eyes.

I don’t know why this feels like I’m seeing her for the first time, but have her cheekbones always been so pronounced?

I almost feel like I’m meeting a stranger and the feeling is weird.

It makes me uncomfortable and I’m not a man who becomes uncomfortable.

Her cheeks and neck turn pink under my gaze and she removes her eyes from mine, reaching for the door handle.

I reach out in front of her and hold it closed.

I don’t fail to notice the small inhale she takes at my proximity.

My face is only inches from hers. “What are you doing?” She asks, awkwardly.

I can tell from the little sparkle in her eye that she isn’t opposed to my proximity.

It almost makes me want to smile. Almost. “I got the door,” I explain as I remove my hand from the handle and exit the car from my side.

I make my way around the car, searching our proximity out of habit for some kind of threat.

When I see none, I open her door and extend my hand to her.

She takes my hand and I help her out of the car.

I usher her out of the street and to the sidewalk and we both pause.

I take in her childhood home in person for the first time.

Of course, I’ve seen images from my research, but I’ve never physically seen it in person.

It’s a lovely home. It’s the kind of home you would see on a commercial for a fabric softener of some kind.

It looks very white and warm from the outside as if a family has lived and laughed here many times.

It makes my chest sting with the memory of what my life used to be like before that fateful night.

Ivory’s voice cuts through the darkness of my thoughts, “What’s wrong? Were you expecting a mansion?”

I lower my eyes to hers and keep my expression blank, “No.”

Her playful smile wavers and she clears her throat awkwardly at my dismissal. Suddenly, I feel that I’ve made a grave mistake because I want to see that smile again. “I assumed you would’ve moved your mother and brother out of New York once you built a life in LA.”

Some of the light restores to her eyes as she explains, “I offered to move them with me. I even offered to get them an obnoxiously large mansion, but my mom declined the offer. She’d accept money, jewelry, and bags, but not saying goodbye to this house.

” She looks at the house with what looks like nostalgia in her eyes, “The walls in this household too many memories. Memories of my dad that none of us are okay leaving behind.”

I nod in understanding. I know the feeling all too well. “Have you always lived here before you came to LA?” I already know the answer, but I just want to keep her talking. I want to hear her voice and see the way her face lights up when she talks about this place she loves so much.

“Yeah. My dad saved every penny he had to buy this house for my mom. She saw it one day while they were driving and she fell in love with it. He worked his ass off to make her dream come true,” she explains. There’s so much love in her voice, but also a bit of sadness for the loss of her father.

“That’s very admirable of him,” I say politely.

She smiles and looks up at me, “It is. Was,” she corrects herself. She abruptly changes the subject, any sign of nostalgia on her face gone as she becomes more serious, “We should go inside. I want to get Sam dealt with as fast as possible.”

We make our way up the paving stone walkway and up the freshly power-washed stairs to the front door.

The house is well-kept. Ivory’s mom must take care of it well or pay someone to take care of it well.

While the woman has many faults, I can’t deny she takes pride in her home.

And that’s just to be said from the outside.

The house itself is in a nice part of Staten Island, which is rare considering how awful the rest of the place is.

Ivory knocks on the door and while we wait for a response, I look over my shoulder and picture a little Ivory playing on the lawn with her father or with her mother.

The door opens and a woman a few inches taller than Ivory with noticeably fake breasts and a small waist like her daughter’s greets us from the other side.

Her platinum blond hair is neatly curled and styled to perfection and her overly made up face barely moves from what I imagine must be a tremendous amount of Botox.

I knew her mother was on the more luxurious side of life, but seeing it in person makes me pity the small brunette next to me because I know everything her mother buys and does is on her dime.

Ivory’s heart is just too damn big to do anything about it.

Ivory’s mother, Tara, squeals, “Oh my God! My baby is home! Oh, come here and give me a hug!” She flails her arms all over and reaches out to wrap her arms around Ivory in a bear hug.

I watch as Ivory returns the sentiment, relaxing into her mother’s arms and squeezing her a little tight as if she needed the embrace from her mother for a while.

I imagine she hasn’t seen her in some time.

Tara grips Ivory by the shoulders and assesses her daughter, frowning as she takes her in from head to toe, “Bootsie, are you feeling okay? You look different.” There’s a worried tone to her voice.

Ivory looks at me over her shoulder with an embarrassed expression. I grin, knowing it’s because of her mother’s nickname for her. I didn’t know her mother called her that, but I’m so very pleased that I now do. She focuses back on her mother, “Mom, I told you to stop calling me that.”

Her mother waves her off, “I’ll call my baby whatever I damn please. Now tell me, are you feeling well? You look sick.”

I try to take Ivory in from the perspective of her mother, but it’s harder for me to do so because I see her every day.

I don’t notice changes in her the way her mother would after not seeing her for some time.

Aside from the slight hollowness of her cheeks and the circles under her eyes, I can’t see what her mother is seeing.

Ivory frowns, “I am fine. Thank you. I’m just stressed and very very busy with my movie.”

Tara’s eyes look up and land on me and I swear, there is a flirtatious gleam in her eyes that has my palms suddenly growing sweaty. “This must be the boyfriend!”

I slip into the role easily, extending my hand for her mother to shake, “Hello, I’m Dallas.”

Her mother reaches out and shakes my hand a little too eagerly, “I’m Tara, it’s so nice to meet you,” she bats her fake lashes at me.