Page 11 of The Handyman

And then, my mom heard about it.It’ll take more effort than it’s worth. So many average people think they can make it, so what makes you special? If you ask me, it’s only going to be a struggle, and you won’t ever make money on it.Weeks before the show, my mom sat me down and told me—I wasn’t special. I shouldn’t go on that stage because it wouldn’t help me. I had to start thinking about college, and maybe finding a part time job. Fantasizing about being the one who got lucky and ended up on American Idol wasn’t practical and wouldn’t pay the bills.

Have you ever heard any of those sob stories where they’re not struggling, Riley? Some of those people are legitimately homeless! Do you really want to deal with that?

But the truth was…my mom was the one that didn’t want to be embarrassed by having a ‘loser’ kid chasing her dream. I wasn’t Beyoncé, for sure, but— When did my mom ever support me in anything? When did my mom evenpretendto acknowledge anything I wanted to try? Nothing was good enough. Everything was too hard. No one was going to listen to me, anyway. I shouldn’t even bother because I’d put in all that effort and it’d end in failure.

Deciding not to go to college was wrong, but my choices of college were also wrong. Redding, Connecticut was the best place to live even though it was New England’s version of a redneck shit hole. My sexual ‘deviancy’ was an open invitation to get beat up, raped, and dumped in a dirty alley, and it wasmyfault, so my mom wouldn’t have to feel bad.

My mom never wanted to feel bad. She never wanted tolookbad. It was like she wanted a dog she could dress up the way she wanted, not a daughter with aspirations, dreams and desires.

That’s right…my mom sees me as an accessory.When things were going well, she’d brag about me to all her stupid Redding friends over their gross, extra-specially made coffees. When things weren’t going well, my mom hid me and ignored me, like I was a bracelet being repaired at the cleaners. Her friends would ask about me maybe, but she’d laugh, wave her hand and say. . .Riley? She’s fine. Anyway. . .

‘Every one thing someone says will affect you.’ That was Reece trying to politely explain how I had to stop letting my mom’s negativity fuck with me. If my mom were a friend, I would’ve cut her off without warning. Just because she was my mom didn’t mean I was obligated to let myself get dragged down by her shit.

And it’s not even like it’s ever been any different! Scoffing lightly at my own, shrill, inner voice, I clenched my teeth hard to grind them together. I should’ve moved to New York City and ignored my mom. I thought about it. I considered what might happen. My mom didn’t know where I fucking lived because she didn’t care! The only reason she would care is if I was super rich, lived in a penthouse and bought 600 dollar bottles of wine every single night, tipping male strippers with gold bars!

“Because she’d get something out of it—if she can’t use me to prop herself up, I don’t exist.” The only reason my mom ever talked to me was to belittle my choices and try to convince me to go back to Redding. She wanted me close, where she could monitor me and twist everything to suit her image. If I went back to Redding, I’d be miserable, but that didn’t matter as long as I smiled pretty. Maybe, I’d find a rich man with six houses that only came to Connecticut every 7thwinter on a full moon. My mom could gush about how perfect we were, even though he was a wimp in bed and we never said more than five words to each other in any given conversation.

But— hey, at least my mom could crow about it.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Riley.”

Blood rushed to my face as my heart thundered, my faint euphoria long since morphing into rage and bitterness. My jaw popped in protest when I opened my mouth. Expectancy settled heavily on me, hanging here, completely immobile but for my mind racing. The ropes creaked slightly as my huge inhale made me swing ever so slightly, and my tightly folded knee threatened to pop its socket when I tensed.

And…Iscreamed.

9

Reece

Asoft knock sounded on the door, and I glanced through the peep hole to find Brighton’s ugly ass mug on the other side. I appreciated his concern, but we’d known each other for almost eight years.Granted, if someone screamed like this for 10 minutes straight, I’d be concerned about my business across the walls, too.

Cracking open the barrier, I sized Brighton up; he was a typical short, Italian dude with rings, the accent and everything. He simply arched a brow quizzically, gesturing me out, and my cheek twitched in irritation.

If Riley did realize I’d stepped out, it probably wouldn’t happen for a while. Glancing over my shoulder, I pursed my lips thinly at the sight of her. Honest to God, my own work impressed me. It’d taken me an hour and change, but it’d been worth it. Riley wassofucking sexy with her thick thighs straining between the rope coils. Rosy and dripping with sweat, she made my mouth water, and all I wanted to do was eat her like she was a perfectly cooked roast.

Or like, the pork briskets curing in the grocery store by my apartment.

Shaking my head as Riley’s hoarse screeching muffled slightly, I cleared my throat roughly.

Brighton crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest, his chest hairs curling out the top of his shirt.

Can’t get much more Italian than this right here.

“So-o. . . what do you want, Brighton? Or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me like I pissed in your cereal?” Rocking back on my heels, I stuffed my hands in my pockets to cock my head. “I don’t think we’ll be much longer. Plus, we got dinner reservations for 8:30.”

“Look, Reece— I know she got the shit smacked out of her, and she needs to let it out, but you should’ve gotten a soundproof room.”

My eyes narrowed on him, and I fished out my cell phone as I stared down my nose at Brighton. I liked the guy, but he should’ve known better than to interrupt me over a fuckingnoise complaint. “I expected to fuck her when I booked, not walk through her crisis, Brighton. From now on, I’ll remember to get the soundproof room. We’re almost done. Speaking of done. . .” Trailing off, I glanced down at my phone as I huffed an inhale. “You do what I asked?”

“Brandon hasn’t been back. I don’t know what you expect, Reece, but he probably won’t come back after we threw his ass out in the snow naked.”

Nah, guys like him are annoyingly persistent.Rolling my eyes, I turned to reenter my room.

Riley was panting and whimpering. So faintly, a tiny, yellow-green mark marred her jaw, the sickly color amplified by the sweat dripping off her. My lip twitched in a snarl, and I slid my phone back into my pocket to walk over to the mini fridge. “You want some water, Riley?”

My coo earned me a rasping ‘yes’, and Riley jostled slightly at the sudden sound of my voice.

Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I twisted the cap and took a few gulps myself. Watching her scream like that ? like she was dying ? these disgusting, gut-wrenching, brutally pathetic shrieks…it was enough to make anyone feel the pain. Her breath hitched when I pressed the bottle to her cheek, lips puckering slightly as I guided the opening to them. “Slowly, baby, slowly.”