Page 15 of The Love Obsession (Bloody Desires #11)

“What?” I blinked at him, confused.

“I’m a cousin. I live in the city and I heard about your mom’s passing. I’m here to grieve with you for a few days.”

There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea.

I’d have to explain to Ginny who he was because she knew we didn’t have any family or come up with a lie that she’d actually believe.

There was no way this would work, and even though I knew it, I nodded because part of me needed him here, too.

The reality of Mom’s death hit me square in the chest.

Dead. Mom was dead.

And she’d had drugs in her system?

Finger trembling, I directed him toward our trailer, and he drove carefully until he found a spot to park beside one of the old lawn chairs we had out front.

Ginny was still with Mrs. Carmine for the night and I didn’t have the heart to tell her about Mom.

Not yet. I needed time to figure my shit out.

With shaking knees, I managed to get out of the Maserati and to the front door of the trailer, unlocking it with a key from my pocket before carefully opening it and stepping inside.

Empty and crushed beer cans were scattered across the floor, and they were new because I’d cleaned them all up this morning before I’d gone to work.

The stale smell of beer lingered in the air, along with a whiff of Mom’s favorite perfume, the same one I had no doubt she’d sprayed before she’d left the house.

My shoulders curled in on themselves as I sighed. “Mom . . . .”

My lungs squeezed, heart ready to give out from the pain that exploded in my chest. Memories from this morning assaulted me, robbing me of breath.

“The last time I saw her I was exhausted and so fucking angry.” I screwed my eyes shut and scrubbed my palms over my face.

“Angry that I had to parent her. To clean up after her latest binge. I snapped. Lectured her on being a fucking mother to Ginny and stop being a drunk loser and—” It didn’t matter.

Not anymore. My days of running after her were gone. So, why did it hurt so fucking much?

I stumbled over to the couch and fell onto it as Zayn shut the door gently.

There wasn’t much to our trailer. It only had one bedroom to the left with a bed that Mom and Ginny shared, while I took the foldout couch in our small living room. There was a half fridge, a sink, and a countertop where we had a portable stove. This was who we’d become.

Dropping my face into my hands, I cried. No matter how hard I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, the tears didn’t stop. If anything, they came out harder and the trembling spread across my body.

Zayn hugged me, his weight strong and heavy against my side, and I fell into him. I buried my face against his chest, heaving horrible sounding sobs. He stroked my neck and down my back.

“She was my mom,” I cried. “And the last thing I ever told her was to get her act together. What kind of dick does that? I was a fucking asshole to her.”

“Shh.” Zayn pressed a kiss to my forehead and cupped my cheeks, gently guiding my face so we could lock eyes.

The lamps in the trailer were dim and flickering, but he was still so fucking hot under them.

His auburn hair came alive under any light and his cheekbones could’ve cut glass.

His eyes....His fucking eyes. Green as freshly cut grass.

He didn’t deserve to get stuck with someone like me who lived in a place like this.

There were so many better options out there for him.

“This isn’t your fault. You said you didn’t know she was taking drugs.” He slid his knuckle down my cheek, and a shuddery breath fanned out of my mouth. His warm touch centered me even as it grew difficult to breathe again.

I shook my head and wiped at a stray tear angrily.

Fuck emotions. “But she was an alcoholic. I told her to wise up, but I fucking let her keep on doing this shit.” I waved around the trailer at the beer cans, at the mess of our life.

“This is on me, and now I gotta raise my five-year-old sister alone. She’s got no mom because of me. ”

“Hey.” Zayn yanked my face around again, his eyebrows drawn low on his forehead. “Did you give her the drugs?”

“What? No!”

“Then how is this your fault, boy?” He kissed my cheek, and when he licked his lips, I realized he’d caught a tear. Heat slid through my veins and my fingers tingled again. “Do you know who could’ve given her the drugs? Do you know sellers?”

I froze. Why was he so caught up in the drugs? “Does it matter? I’m not giving them to the cops. I can’t bring the cops here. They’ll get us kicked out.”

I scrubbed the back of my head furiously and glanced at my cowboy hat hanging on a hook near the door.

It’d been my dad’s and it’d started out as a joke.

When I was a kid, I used to watch a lot of westerns with him, and what began as a tradition became something more.

He’d bought us both a hat, and we would play pretend, both cowboy sheriffs after the thieves who’d robbed a bank.

Now he was dead. All I had left was that hat.

And Mom. ...She’d joined him. What did I have left of her other than a half empty perfume bottle and trash?

He stroked my cheekbone and over my jaw, and I relaxed under his attention. Sighing, I closed my eyes. “There’s some guys around here who sell. I’ll talk to them, find out what they know.”

“I can come with you.” He laid a kiss in the corner of my mouth, and I exhaled through my nose again, tears still falling from my eyes. I couldn’t stop them, even as he chased them away with more kisses.

“You shouldn’t. People here don’t like outsiders.” I licked my dry lips and leaned against him, my cheek pressed on his shoulder. I traced my fingers over his chest and around his pecs, breathing as deeply as I could to calm myself.

How fucking embarrassing. I told the guy I only wanted to fuck, and instead, he’d seen me have a breakdown.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one, if ever.

Not even when Dad died. I’d told myself I needed to be strong for Mom.

But maybe...I could rely on Zayn? Was that stupid?

It didn’t feel like it. “Trust me. They won’t talk if they see you. Let me handle it.”

He made a disgruntled sound and drew me closer, and I hooked a leg over his knee.

Rocking my hips forward, I dragged my cock against his thigh.

I wasn’t hard—how could I be after Mom’s death—but a burning desire expanded in my stomach.

The need to forget, just for one night, grew. I tilted my chin to look at him.

“Daddy?”

Zayn’s attention flew to me.

“I don’t want to think tonight. I just want my Daddy to fuck me and make me hurt a little. Please?”