The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

26. MomVision

26

MOMVISION

Maddox

A few nights later, I fly home from a quick trip to New York, then catch a Lyft to my house. The plan for the next hour is to go for a five-minute swim, then shower, and meet Bryan to see a play, then drinks with him and Ellie.

But when the Nissan drops me off, someone’s waiting on the porch.

My mother is here.

That’s weird. We don’t have plans tonight. A flash of worry cuts through me. Did something happen to my dad? I hoist my overnight bag on my shoulder and cut across the stone path to the small porch. She’s smiling. Doubly odd.

“Hey, Mom. What’s going on?”

She lifts a Hydro Bottle and waggles it proudly. “I was in the neighborhood. And I wanted to bring you this as a gift and thank you.”

That still doesn’t compute. “For what?” I ask, unlocking the door and heading inside.

She follows me. “I read about the deal you did. With your new client.”

She’s never come by to congratulate me on a deal. She’s more apt to come by to lecture me. “It’s a good deal. I’m happy for him,” I say, still wary.

She sighs, then her smile disappears as she holds out her hands. “Maddox, I’m trying.”

I turn around. “Trying what?”

“I’m trying to be involved in your life. To understand you. Hydro Bottles is a green-centric company making environmentally-friendly products. I know that matters to you. But it also donates a bottle to a school for every bottle sold. When I read the news, I thought my son did this ,” she says, proudly.

She hasn’t sounded that way in a long time.

But I’m still a dog wary of someone offering me a bone. “This is what I do. I know you and Dad don’t like it.”

She frowns. “Look, I wish you wanted to work with your father and me, but I know you’re not interested in our side of the law. I accept that. So I simply wanted to say I’m glad to see some inroads. Working with good companies and good men,” she says, and this feels like she’s damning me with faint praise.

But it’s more than I’m used to from her.

“I’m glad you approve,” I say, and I hate that there’s a touch of truth in that statement. I suppose I do still want their support. They’re my parents after all. And Mom did come here.

I let down some of my guard. “I appreciate you saying as much, Mom,” I say, then I take the offered bottle. I set it on the living room table. But I don’t invite her to stay for a drink. I need to get ready for the theater.

“I use Hydro Bottles,” she continues. “And Zane is a great spokesperson. He actually uses the bottles. He cares. I truly like seeing that.”

“That’s what I do, Mom. I pair athletes with brands they care about. In this case, the brand is one that matters to you too.”

“I hope you do more of those,” she says diplomatically, then reaches for her phone from her pants pocket. She slides her thumb across the screen. “Even his little niece uses these bottles. This isn’t a promo video. But you can see it in the background. He posted one recently from her softball game.”

My mouth twists. That sounds wonderful and awful. “Please don’t play it,” I warn, desperately.

Her finger freezes above the play button. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, trying to mask my emotions.

With curious eyes, she lowers her phone. “Maddox? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I bite out.

She studies my face intensely in that most mom-like way. “Do you have feelings for Zane?”

“Mom,” I hiss.

“Are you in?—”

“—No!” I shout. And even if I were in love, I wouldn’t tell her first.

She lifts her hands as if in surrender. But my mom doesn’t know the meaning of the word. She simply holsters her weapon, slides it into her pants pocket, and tries a new tactic. “Sweetheart,” she says gently, like that’ll get me to confess.

But I don’t want to crack open my heart. I don’t want to be judged by her. I don’t need anyone else telling me I made a mistake. I’ve told myself enough damn times.

Instead, though, she reaches for my arm, squeezes it compassionately. “I know you love your job. I don’t understand why, but I respect your passion for it.” She draws a deep breath. “Just make sure your work isn’t the only thing you’re passionate about.”

Then she advances closer still, surprising the hell out of me when she offers her arms in a hug. I’m disarmed, so I take it. It’s quick but affectionate. “I love you,” she says, soft and earnest.

“Love you too,” I mutter, speaking words I haven’t said in ages. To anyone.

Then she turns on her heel and leaves.

Leave it to a mom to see through my facade.

I slump down on the couch, drop my head in my hands, and wish I knew what to do about this crack inside me that’s letting far too many emotions rush in.

“The show is about to begin. Please take your seats.”

The modulated voice resonates from the loudspeakers in the theater as I make my way down the aisle. Bryan’s parked in the fifth row, and I reach him quickly, grateful for a friendly face. I’m still reeling from Mom seeing through me. I didn’t realize her parental vision was that sharp.

“Thanks for joining me in the nick of time,” he deadpans.

“I was ambushed by my mom,” I whisper.

His eyes pop. “Oh! This sounds like a good intermission story.”

The lights dim, and Sebastian Lowe strides onto the stage a minute later. Bryan snaps his gaze to the movie star entering from the wings. I do the same. The play is captivating, but my attention is elsewhere. It’s on my mom’s words. Her out-of-nowhere advice. The video of Zane coaching his niece. Then my own regrets. I should have handled the end with him better. Maybe I need to tell him that. Maybe then I’ll stop beating myself up over my mistakes.

As the first act nears its end, Bryan’s still transfixed by the actor. I need to get to the bottom of his fascination with the recently out Oscar winner.

When intermission comes, we stretch our legs, and I bat first. “What’s up with you and the star?” I tip my forehead to the stage.

With a scoff, he points at me. “You first. I want the mom story. Is she trying to convince you to join her firm?”

“Always. I work for the devil, of course,” I say, but I’m not in the mood to joke. After putting on an act at work, it’s such a relief not to have to hide my feelings. Bryan knows the whole story. Knows what went down in New York too.

I lower my voice. “She basically figured out in two seconds about Zane and me,” I say, a sad smile taking over my face.

My friend returns my smile with a sympathetic one of his own. “Your mom’s hard on you, but she’s a lot like you in other ways. Works hard. Reads people like that . Cares deeply. Not always about the same things as you, but she’s passionate.”

“She mentioned that. Passion . She wanted to know if I was putting my passion in the right place,” I say, sketching air quotes as that word echoes in my mind. Passion . It’s stirring up new questions for me.

“Are you?” he asks simply.

“I am,” I say, emphatically. “That’s what stung so much about what went down in New York. I don’t want to disappoint clients or potential clients. I want to be excellent. I want to help people achieve their dreams. I truly enjoy that, Bryan.” Perhaps I sound like I’m on the cusp of a speech, but I feel that way.

“I know you do, buddy. So what’s eating at you?”

I imagine the All-Star Game in a few more days and the agency dinner the night before. I picture seeing Zane at the restaurant in Venice, acting tough like he did that morning on the phone in Manhattan when I broke things off. He’d said he was going clubbing with his friends the next night. But back in Miami, he’d said no to going out with Gunnar just so he could talk to me on the phone.

He was protecting himself that day when I cut him off. Because I hurt him so much. Perhaps I can fix that one mistake. Resolute, I answer Bryan with, “I need to try to apologize to Zane when he’s in town for the All-Star Game and the agency dinner we’re hosting before it in a few days.”

Bryan arches a doubtful brow. “You’re going to say you’re sorry? Are you sure that’s all you want?”

And just like that, everything’s clear. I know an apology isn’t enough as the real answer to Bryan’s question arrives in an instant.

No, that’s not all I want.

Not one bit.

I want everything with Zane.

I don’t know if I stand a chance at getting it. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to snag a moment alone with Zane.

But I have to try.

Because the answer to what I want lies in the hollow space in my heart. Only Zane can fill it. “No. That’s not all I want. Not even close.”

Bryan cocks his head. “What are you going to do about it?”

That’s the great unknown. “I’m going to start working on it right now,” I say, feeling the first, brilliant spark of possibility.

My friend smiles, then goads me. “Are you? Because the Maddox I know goes after what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m going to do,” I say, feeling certain at last.

Now, I just need to figure out the how.